I am starting to write poetry because I feel that it better helps to communicate my fears and worries about the world than an essay. When I package these thoughts to try to make them scan they somehow become easier to manage. Anyway, this one is called ‘Property’ and owes more than a little to Corso´s ‘Marriage’, the infinitely superior poem to which a link is attached. The writing of fiction continues as always but as yet the quality has yet to reach my expectations of it.
If I believe mail thieves stalk, should I
send myself shit-smeared obscenities?
Though I wince with every delivery.
And fearful of muggers, should I memorise
the pressure points of the body?
I can barely remember birthdays.
Burglars will not enter a house where
big cats lurk inside, wild with hunger,
but then neither will I.
And when the police refuse to listen
and loved ones shake their heads, then what?
Maybe it is better to destroy everything I own
than let someone steal it.
Set it adrift on a burning longboat.
Better to stand in the ruins of a house stripped,
walls bare and cracked, wiring out.
Shouting, “You will not, you will not,”
all naked and alone.
Below – this is the real thing: