The grief of my country is sitting in the corner of my stomach. A pigheaded bacterium— it is going nowhere. A garrison in my small intestines;a dogged settler army of worms laying ambush. I cannot throw up, there are razor-wires dipped in my throat.  The goddamn grief blocked! From the broken spoon,I have been eating Herr Coloniser! I will digest you; your bones with fluoric acids—will dissolve you in…