North Noise

Organs out of his mouth has nothing to do with his organ.

Zillion wings cast winds from nests scattered around the sere trees.

This tragic land was where saps merged and drenched from stark.

Now he flew south to meet or mete the soup,

Leaving icicles hang.

Infesting but can never testify the inklings of rows, Of concrete icecubes.

Nude willows were ment to flourish in spring.

Coming is the next cadenza of longitude.