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.