Sonnet in the machinic / herpetic style

Ostensibly an actuary. Actually an ossuary. Librarian.
Nectarine bones. "You're mistaken. He was a Franciscan."
Death among the cactuses.     A farrago of hats.
And under one your magic number
The narrow staircase in the library sticks as
    the raving vagrant is ejected, gently.
She pitied him by the pianola and so she rode him pillion.
Her eyes were electronic and     somehow    strangely human.
In a floral locale where they show movies and drink
the sympathetic camel compressed like Miss April.
It began like any other day and ended like one zero.
Where do they come from     who knows     they are missed.
It was a syllogistic transaction     therefore we kissed
The accordion barcarole blared from the car radio
and she never drank from the fountain without slurping.