Ilocos Norte

sounds like bampire.
Lola heps heps in the van.
Ipis and butiki fight over my dandruff.
Stupid van bounces along so long we roll backwards
like iron plates loving deep fried pork belly
bagnet magnets and macabre Marcos tombs
spotlit in black dimensions and pre prerecorded anthems.

May the light shine upon you too, jeproks!
say dad’s actually rather wholesome flickr clique aware
of uploads proportional to lola heps heps in the van.

We revisit church no. 3 when the lighting is better
and truck no. 6 when the church isn’t in the way.
Museum no. 4 the sixty year old toothless guide
in a wifebeater and John Stockton shorts
is hella dal dal and fetches
me when I wander away from his lecture.
Museums no. 1-9 are people’s old houses.
Lola heps heps in the van.

Rustic and tropic, we sleep eat and tour
walang working faucets walang yellow walang bedsprings.
Tabo showers. The whole beach has wireless.
Lola heps heps in the van.