4 Wived Sods

The tree is tortured growing in place
I can feel your pain, oh tree of time
time that passes with stimulus and response tests
the Texas chain saw massacre of Waco returns stumps to the museum
emotion is strewn all around like saw dust
piled and smelling sweetly upon tyhe forest floor
and projectile vomit in the head of the Roja Dog saloon
lay like a plastic snake on the side of the road ready to bite
the motion of emotion rises and falls like waves of opportunity lost
temporary nausea and sickness, cold and hopelessness
the dark cloud of the soaking ice-rain is always minutes away
emotion rises like gorge in the throat ready to repeat the forgettable mess
when the rucksack smelled like the garbage inside and powdered patrons looked so besuited and sweet smelling
no one could afford the emotions, the national passtime was a pigskin tossed downfield
an insult to islam kicked like a prize possesion with highest values for the biggest bowl with ranch on it
I had no emotions about the 3000 names of God that some believe they might spell accurately, some how
God would supply the lexicon if it mattered, the prophet didn't play football except with ponies and the heaads of foes
perhaps without emotion for he had 11 wives, I none, and cannot imagine

rot the four wived sods...