-05.22.2023-
The organs jet out of his mouth and have nothing to do
with his organ.
Zillions of wings cast winds from nests scattered around the sere trees.
This tragic land was where saps merged and drenched indeed
from stark bargains.
Now he flew south to meet or mete the soup,
Leaving icicles hanging,
Infesting but will never testify the inklings of rows of concrete ice cubes/
The nude willows were meant to flourish in spring,
Return to bat the next cadenza of quondam longevitude.
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