Wristwatch

Beware, don’t go near those who say, “Follow Me” or “the time is at hand!” Surely, they have received their wages. Don’t follow them. Instead, set your face toward the Temple Mount: then get on your knees before the Mount of Olives. At Dawn, the Cock will Crow.

Know Merci

“So.” She says, “I’m jealous of your curly hair” and proceeds to shave off my sideburns, dying its vestiges a shameful hue, demarcating your promiscuity like a landscaper on borrowed tongue, not at all amused at the buzz, demanding absolute stillness for our hoarding mess. Why any expectant mother should have to put up with appointed seasons, while grasping dustpan and broomstick, is beyond swords.

The Diaspora

The Filipino Diaspora

For Ted Laguatan

Roughly, for every Wandering Jew, besides them is a Wondering Filipino, chainsmoking Cubao cigars. That's about eight million Dwarves for every Hobbit. Strangely, for every Fil-Am, there are two Jews and manny op-eds, accompanied by sunset sighs and Cheribum Jokers debating what to plant in the Shire this year, if at all. I suggest, our Kalesa rest. Just as Spielberg mistook a Warhorse for Carabao, you are Guardian over each other's soles in the wilderness, even though most aren't aware of their own sheaves on fire, much less auspicious denizen. The revolving sword of Eden never lies still for too long. And real estate on Mount Arayat is booming despite bad reports, courtesy of Pinoi Pirates:

Do not fear debt.

Lea's Four Eval Eyes

For Prof. David Lash

I learned that withholding is the epitome of modesty. It is one thing to say, "I do" and not mean fare well, yet. Phylactery Advocacy is another thing entirely: casting vulgar deforestation, from undisclosed, heavily fortified locations. I may harbor effeminate mannerisms, such as windmill invocations, baton twirling, Pink Vandalism, but that does not make mi a Closeted Fascist. It is immodest to suspend Habeus Corpus. I am coveting herr bathtub curtains.

Karaokey Wind

"We must become the Messenger's Messengers." ~ Elie Wiesel

Shema Hodu and Havilah.

Call my contraceptives, Unified States. On our Elián planet, that is why we outsource Thanksgiving. I am waiting tables for the combustion of our Beeswax Mausoleum.

Indian Poet, Sherman Alexie revisits Dachau because that is how Punk Poets breakdance with Wolverines, at Reed Dawn. Bene Ephraim could care less if you can relate, so long as Smoke Signals are brought to your ATTN: Quill Mills haunt U.S. as Ur children Minesweep. Our Megamalls quake with Buffalo Soldiers 'n tanks, but know Tatankas, if y'all still do not understand Hexagramophones. There were little horns and wounded knees, babysitting Shiva-style. There are Taliban-

Gurus bearing bridges.

ChéChinatown

D'oh Hunchboxers of ChéChinatown moonmarch shopping carts d@wn East Villages, hording our discarded aluminum c@ns, bears and wata bottles, Anonymous Li into Ironic Ⓐmen. Dare fist-size bundles stand at ATTN: from itch sharp coroner, Generation Advection envelops Manilaners and Shanghailanders, whose hump husks cloak Little Bruddha's Bellydancers. If you ruby them like Aladdin's lamps, lean und mean czars emerge, squirting Palanquin sounds of Coptic Tinnitus flooding Ur earlobes ~ The epitome of Tohu Va Vohu, Marxist Machinations inn unity and individuality, wei-wei past bedtime. Nexus time, bee sure-sure to Bow Vow upon encountering ChéChinatowns or Risk getting stoned by a Sha'ar Pier of Cheribum Ruckus. To debt. Private Lei.

Bittersweet Sister

Haven't heard from Mercy in ages. She prolly still fils sore about her hair being pulled. It's like ya gotta yank Destiny's Children at the Rut, even if it means Silent Screaming. In broke Korei'an.

Year of The Metal Rabbit

Pakistani Deliman inquires, "What is Good Luck?" I reply, "Giving $'s to East Asia: American Bankruptcy." He laughs out loud, accepting my VISA. No joke, I exit into the undead of Night Shyamalan, having purchased Arizona Green Tea with GINSING, branded with imitation Chinese characters, and grape-flavored cigars manufactured in Indayenu Jones.

Ezekiel's Bones

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.