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Hi, power, who a hippo were, rough & river-
rocky horse & now (early spring & swollen) cow- brown, with a will’s way over me upside-down.
I queried a willow: wisp, what will a power allow
me of my clamor, whistle of a chilly little
bird misundervoiced so pitifully? Poor bird,
advice, advicious. Power’s will not mine that I’d
in any likelihood enlist. Down-headed twit, in all humility,
power too blameless to bother a flick-feather about.
Hello, lower power, plow-prowler, what will you
want of me now that I’ve ill-gotten again?
Flower follower, under the plucky petals of love
before & after the love-not, worm I admire,
mouthy gut, processor, earth-passager? O just admit
me once to your dearest & most confidential ear.
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Robin D. G. Kelley on the midterm elections.
What we have achieved this year—and our plans for 2023.