Someone posted these extracts on the Poetry Society website:

"I hereby release you from time;
From the tyranny of small comfortless rooms;
From crammed distressful lunchbreaks;
From coffee in paper cups"

"I invest you with the month of September,
Which you were last able to attend to
At the age of four"

Apparently they are from the poem "Now What" from the collection "Queuing for the Sun". For some reason I have become strangely obsessed with finding the rest of it. So if anyone happens to have it...

I offer you a Frances Leviston poem as collateral:

Humbles

If you have hit a deer on the road at dusk;
climbed, shivering, out of your car
with curses to investigate the damage
done, and found it split apart and steaming
far-flung in the nettle bed, utterly beyond repair,
then you have seen what is not meant to be seen,
is packed in cannily, coiled, like parachute silks,
but unputbackable, out for the world to witness:
the looping, slicked-up clockspring
flesh's pink, mauve, arterial red,
and there a still-pulsing web of royal veins
bearing the bad news back to the heart;
something broken, something hard, black,
the burst bowel fouling the meat
exposed for what it is, found out - as Judas,
ripped from groin to gizzard, was found
at dawn, on the elder tree, still tethered to earth
by all the ropes and anchors of his life.

EDIT:

Found it!

Now What?

I hereby release you from time;
From the tyranny of small comfortless rooms;
From crammed distressful lunch-breaks;
From coffee in paper cups. I divorce you
From the you that other people
Have decided you are; I restore to you
Sunday evenings. I have said
There shall be no more agendas;
No more reading of uncongenial papers
About quality control, accreditation, audit;
No more explaining the worth of unparalleled texts
To unimpressed note-takers. No more endless
Phone calls after midnight about
Abstracts, references, funding. No more
Paranoid colleagues, no more
Torpid secretaries. Finally
I invest you with the month of September,
Which you were last able to attend to
At the age of four. Hereby I give you
All this, said the magician. Freedom, it's called.

I thought you'd be pleased?