the apposite of power

i. the argument goes pffft, anagrams of dissent do salaams to the gregariouness of maul / an argument it is, less tender than all the pretentions of propriety huddled together in Siberia mid winter, reaching for the bulb of cold in the midst of an argument gone awry – the chill factor is zero –

cooption in verse is to snitch on the living idiom of the oppressed, making it palatable for the high lords of culture, informing them thus of where & when to strike next – quite simple actually

ii. do I dot plantain eyes with tees of spent disdain? if so, does grass bother and settle? if it does, where will the pain of mud run away? so much for the dotting of plantains; better to mix with straw and eat raw than belch with the caw-caws of the mildew forest – this, this I say is winter –

how to resist? by choosing an idiom that gets stuck in the throat of power – also pretty simple

iii. I parked my levitation, my want of levitation, by the lamppost, and it lit the shocks, the sharp knells of a hungry bulb – the past was never this clear – nothing is made merrier by lynching the roots of flight –