Reichenbach Falls

The normal state of things shifts every now and again.  What I could see as an illusion now was very real to me then.  This is the state of things.  Moving in a car.  I wouldn't want to give up a car but I would want to move to those magical trees.  You see, a rather wound up person told me in a dream that this was HER view.  Why is it not mine?  I didn't intend to live in a toil town.  Even though bits of the green peep through here and there.  They struggle.  As do I.  The bits of this beggar is a personal tour into pain, longing and soul sojourning.  Piece by piece I put me together.  Life lies here.  Underground.  I so wish to go.  If I were to grow up and out, I think I'd feel free.  Greenery does something to my insides. 
Comedian of Tragedy
Even though you may believe my life is a joke, I say to you it isn't. Your actions speak and you continuously poke at the pains in me. Knife, fork and forked tongue. Go blue-sing your way through... some sugar shake blown. I can blossom without you. I have. I can see through your whiskey and sleaze. Just another night at the tavern of the good folks. Just another night for fools. Keep dancing to your jester tune. The quick brick holds the ham. I can't stomach the flood of fakery through the valley. Some river rushing wisdom by your door. Lay down. Put down your coat, you imbecile. I'll climb in my boat. Another night far from you. Sunday, August 26, 2012 10:38 a.m.             
I can pretend, Switzerland.  I feel the miles of memory in my pain.  Ancestry from  miles away.  Two hundred years under your falling water.  I can pretend, Switzerland.  And I'll wear my London, too.  Thousands of people pulse in these veins.  And who the hell are you?  Another summer night on a dying vine in a dying sky under a darkened moon and twisted pain.  There is rain in these woods.  Night will tell.  We pulled into a strange and sweet land.  Both of us having the same dream.  Sometimes, it is good to get away.  But we'll live here, my love, with our Swedish oven.  We only needed the limbs and branches and the sky above.  I have no desire to pull dead weight.
From the Devil's loam to logia.  We try to till a dark sky.  We try to pull forth a brilliant horizon from a dying sun.  We try to make things grow down for everyone.  I'm pulling dreams out of the air.  I'm pulling them from the storm clouds.  Changing winds remind me, as they shake these dreams from my hair, that you can only have this.  This air, this sun.  This face.  Your temple shakes.  So, the first cool breath of morning reminds me.  It is time to move on.