Lion-Eating Poet in the Stone Den

dove colm
which moo and moon
must culminate
as rare framed flowing
it tastes in detectable ruins
as beach shoots
a radial offering

fingers like sand columns
webbed in clam spittles

some ravens sigh
upon the signs writ
lovingly on the road
some ravens blur
while passing thru
toroidal cloud
rotating wrongly
about the head of the poetaster

there remains
a still unique figure
guiding garden overhead
to abstract vestibules
of inordinate naturalism
angular peninsula
to terminate
in ornate forking bridge
one fork dock-like
the other padded
and incongruous
wrapped tightly
in branching ribs of twisted iron

a dove in the bamboo
and a raven
balancing a pebble
to the stain

there is a heft
to the hand hewn log
set upright
as the functionless axle
of the red stone wheel
base cuticle inflorescence
and somehow the cymbal
which spreads wide its brass
over all the tiny doodle bug fountains
was slipped down over a flange
rendering projection's carving
impossible

so lay around as spring
wearing suction cups
and sprouts