On Divination With Possums In Alabama

By Zazen

Do not tremble at the grey dangler:
it does not suspend near snow blooms
of sweet scent magnolias like the hanged man
that gelatins grape us in life’s plastic mold.

Also do not quake at the pastor rightside up
at pulpit but upside down in his Hell fire skull.
No inverted St. Peter freeing us with nail bonds,
he straightjackets us with itchy Bible cloth.

Raise your hands to the 2 of lab coat women
whispering of needle syringe vaccines
for the red spike virus balls choking us
& to Gaia of green filling us with gold wheat.

Topsy turvy too in an earth of coffins & sobs,
they still shot & herb us like carbon Christs.

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