VIII from Trilce
—a transcontemporation of Vallejo A man yawns. An ostrich dies. A loaded gun. Pez-dispensing Hallmark cards par four, hi fatso, ponder Introspection's sister. A yawn mans. Gun dies, a? loaded with ostrich eggs. Cereal stains my tender chapbook. Can you percolate parachute? Duh, the carnivorous cello. Good Playdough, Frootloop aficionados expect espresso, but a man yawns: sin; unsin: a yawn mans, enter the arrow quivering a Mentos O-ring, harbor asparagus in the margins blondes trespass my frozen propane you'll have to pardon my art deco why question the front teeth of the spatula.