Balm of Gilead

from by La Chancla

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Adept, we suffer, inclined to separate, but a part of each other,
Wrought from the Big Bang Boom, but at all from my hand? Well that's another, -story.
With one foot anchored in the dirt, like our first child, neatly dispersed.
Choke back any hint of tears, tell the truth, and pull back the noose that calls you cursed.

The space of separation is where I lay
If I could get it through my head, I would be okay

My reputation's tread with teeter totter blackmail grist
Swinging kick to the gut like a skinhead hobnail, then a fist
Cause oftentimes the syrupy pull holds me in place, running still, losing the race.
Treading molasses only to float, as if a blue ribbon could bolster a boast!

I have nothing to show for it

I have nothing to show for it

- - - -

But I have something to show for it: Imputation

Blood pours over me
I can't help but let it permeate,
Run through my body like the lightning's fate
12 pins down, and pray my soul to take!
A lion tamed, whipped out of rage,
A chorus sung with ageless range,
A vanishing act like a Vegas Stage,
appearing near with unending grace

The space of separation is where I lay
If I could it through my head I would be okay

Who is man that You are mindful of him?
Who am I through the mirror dim?
Where can death be festivities?
Defer to Your "absurd" proclivity!


from Bummer City's Best Lawn, released March 5, 2019


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La Chancla Kansas City, Missouri

Out they came, from a pile of radioactive ooze, mutated through the ages to the tune of halcyon humming and the aural auras of intergalactic crickets, and rising now, instruments of cosmic tomfoolery in hand... La Chancla!

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