Baxter Dashingrod – Baxter in a Blue Dress

:13 Another revolution, rarely seen and seldom heard, The proclamation of a thinker, used to dream but fell deferred, Painting by the numbers more painful when you’ve been known to stray, And ascension through assimilation seems as if the the…

Baxter Dashingrod - Baxter in a Blue Dress

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:13
Another revolution, rarely seen and seldom heard,
The proclamation of a thinker, used to dream but fell deferred,
Painting by the numbers more painful when you’ve been known to stray,
And ascension through assimilation seems as if the the only way,
Caged birds and such, to the rage, words and nuts,
And we put them on display till the page turns and shuts,
And then it’s, back to molding, reshaping once pure intentions,
The faces have been defaced as the basis for all this fiction,
Rye tainted with ergot, but the wit remains unblemished,
Or maybe it’s existence is just one of the many symptoms,
So what’s at stakes the product, the thought of all that increases me,
Seams tend to unravel, the seamstress ain’t who she seems to be,
And no one knows when what’s thought knowns up for debate,
Or when interest subsides with lies and we find nothing of late,
Retracing the faded vestiges off all those yesteryears,
And re purposing the fluid produced from unrequested tears,
And I, alleviate all that ails and all that prevails is us,
So we fall and fail appall and pale and scrawl these tales to entrust,
To caregivers of morrow, forgive us our modern follies,
Logic becomes antiquated,withers like autumn fall leaves,
The palm trees remind of home, still in need of a little maintenance,
The pictures worth into words in accordance to who then paints it,
Late nights flipping through films and I’m mocking monsters of Midian,
Pocket books from the Gideons, global infectious idioms,
Really I’m, less concerned relegated to the sidelines,
Horizons beyond my eye line, what’s mine is so often times time,
Nothing more nothing less, it passes in blinks and yawns,
So what they may think is withdrawn is more likely just me at calm,
Peaceful in contemplation, meander till lost in thought,
A penny for each perhaps, but what’s hidden’s not to be bought,
Catch, release or caution be caught, so to be or not to be, wrought,
With questions of direction, fate or just failures found in perception,
What’s made’s a mountainous mess and we break it down and undress it,
And when it’s naked all’s apparent, flaws and leaps in the logic,
Then light brings to the surface all once that was deep in the darkness,
No use, hiding reality, shame and all it entails,
Pressure’s known to bust pipes, weight is known to tip some scales,
But if this fails, who’s to say, we’ll see another chance,
And then callous calls into question the longing lost in a glance,
But what’s left can soften our stance, and at best we offer a hand,
To potential, that’s all it ever is, future’s seldom foretold,
But we build upon parts of pasts that we use as lessons to hold,
In times of need, but aren’t they all? Never known satiation,
Not ungrateful of our roles we’ve just never been paid to play them,
No hate, just a blanket statements, on top of maybe my muse,
With instruction,nurture my views which are used to make it abstruse….
As if I had a choice, but a nudge is seldom refused,
So I welcome with open arms as if teeming wretched refuse……….

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