Tree! Tree; Tree! TreeTree treetree Tree. Tree? Tree-son.

More just random spurts of thought then anything else. Not exactly poetry, but, then again, what is?

~~~~

The son of the tree is named
Treason!
Treason waltzes through everyday in a spurt of sacreligious sarcasm and steps on the squatters as he walks to the very edge of the cliff.
The cliff is made of marshmallows
which everyone dips in the chocolaty ocean.
But, you see, dipping the marshmallow cliff simply isn't enough for
Treason
so he plunges his entire body into the
apathy of nature.
The ocean will continue to produce chocolate
and the cliff will continue to be made of marshmallow
no matter how many
greasy
oily
bloody
mass-mudery
manufacturing
corporations
we thrust onto the poor Mother's skin.
Oh, she continues.
The sun will set.
The sun will rise.
And rain will come, cried New Jersey. Rain will someday fall.
Treason knows. Treason knows.
Knows treason.
Knows is also a very special
character.
And, one day, he will possess each and every one of us;
push us off the cliff in the
mostMagnificentadventurousUniversal
murder
of all ____.
Well, you fill in the blank and let me know if it really exists.