These are the ordinances of the copperhead altar when it will be manufactured, to offer burnt offerings. And the desktop shall be a Rubik's Cube. Its ascent will face the restroom, to and fro, and wise kings of The East will increase, here and there. From the ledge, a cherub child, seated on a swiveling chariot, will take four nuclear instruments — a pair of toe-nail clippers, a headband-visor, a stubborn cigarette lighter — and place the Samulnori species on a vintage folder-flotilla toward America, handmaiden in She'China.
A blessing. "Sun, do not be sad, it is rare for water and fire to mingle. And your elderly daddy longlegs, wrapped in a gray mantle from forehead to big toe, will be afflicted with diabetic lesions and transmit his dreams through an earthy, wrinkled robe. You will awaken back to back from a nap, astonished." On that day, the ashtray will be like holy incense before the L-rd, while Ema vacuums in the living room.
Even the bells around the pioneer horses signal: Do not disturb My serpent servant.
