Reign of the Quisling-Rodents

MY NEIGHBOURHOOD

8 Very like Von Trotha and the Herero MY NEIGHBOURHOOD In my neighbourhood They retreat crookedly ahead And straight backwards They advance So therefore In my neighbourhood You must move ahead to the rear At the front In my neighbourhood There are men whose hands Hang down their left shoulders and vice versa Just as if The creator erred over them And they eye you Longing In dead earnest To dine On your entrails So therefore You must walk crookedly ahead in my neighbourhood Making sure Your toes are facing The direction whence you come Ramshackle goings on 9 That once made – of my neighbourhood – A shunned home And of me, A denigrated immigrant In my neighbourhood You couldn’t stand it at all The things your eyes should hear; Not at all The things your ears should see So therefore You’ll do well to stick fingers in your nostrils So as not to hear a word In my neighbourhood Do well to stick fingers in your ears So as not to smell a thing In my neighbourhood… BENIGHTED Spittle-wine in legislation-bottle, stoppered with deceit I drink it at socio-economic gun point Mistake not – for a squint in the hot sun – My grimace of pain, O friend an ocean away! See me here, in this artist’s impression – unlike An x-ray photo – of the bare-bodied: No torso but a rib cage, in this Skinning alive of pseudo-compatriots ...