The Outsider

What is seen, what it is felt and what is understood though oil and water do not mix let us stir the rainbonic pix reflections of the world flooding in flowing through billions of brightly bursting synapses how does it feel which is a surrealistic recluse of its own but to share the reflection back from within while the critical world waits to devour it for their own I feel sorry for your sacred cow tethered to your side imagination creativity are not bound by your idealistic face call me childish naïve the brute lowbrow or insane not in line with the beautiful people but waiting in peripheral wing there is something ready to fly no strings or bars society sets will stop the swirling echoes within the mind from waving back at you as you look at the outsider