My name is 29

I feel displaced
outside and in between
two boarders
and a vassal
between two masters

Jew if I am
Jew if I’m not
As all the lawyers talk a lot
Babalon and Yahweh no longer
But it isn’t your fault

only one will take responsibility
and because of exile from the other
you’ll be left at constant wonder
of what defines and will make
you human in humanity

My bedroom is the intern-camp
and naturalization is impossible
because love is global
I could only want what gnostic prophets
have of the death of nations foreseen
Displaced have I my bullet shots at G-d
but have my guilt unsheathed

and go radiant ever upon my way