on 4-leaf clovers not found

By Micheal Argella

Trapped in midnight maps,
Yesteryear lost in fear, torn
From a mother’s arms, born
As a beast is, standing-up,

Plucked. Granite flaneurs,
Standard procedures, floors
Fall from under me, midnight
Moons fell forth revolver sounds.

Mysteries never found, trees
Sway their seeds away, it frees
The seeds away swayed from trees.
A clover is born, mysteries abound.

Abound the round decay of branch,
Around the bound branches, clovers
Split apart round hills tumbl’d over,
Myth to myth, God to God, a breath;

Death death harps over clay hearts,
A star desiring clay death harp hearts,
Born needing branches of disarray,
Abound around the branch of decay,

The Angel shines light down on it,
In the middle of it, light becomes lighter,
Light becomes tiger, chaos in the mist,
The decaying branch clovers-in-fist.

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