Beauty Projector

Walking weirdly to avoid hypocrisy,
into a greyscale where the language is whales or maybe dolphins communicating,
making that run diving in and flying out of the ocean.
Living the mystery communicating with the gods who expose beauty.
Looking for a vision that's not wearing camouflage.

The romantics ran into trouble when they found out beauty wasn't enough,
that their true confessions wouldn't be enough to make nature love them as much as they loved nature.
And tried to use what beauty they found like cologne and cigars when they had to run errands in the open sewer sections.

Rear view mirror thinking in the house of mirrors in the brain , networked from head to toe to soul.
Through the foggy soul with eyes of eagles and ears of jungle cats
to a bizare yard sale where angels serve tea and then sit down with you.
A place that Stanley Kubrick could rivet to your flashbacks.

but never enough bang for the buck after the popcorn taste is gone and your cinema sense is back to normal.
Flabbergasting while the world blows a gasket.
And then not much waiting when in the forest fired wasteland little green slivers form patterns.
Wild weeded herbs rooted deep under dead layers of earth.