Alphabet City

“Ukrainians squandered not only everything we gave them 
during the [Soviet Union] but even everything they inherited 
from the Russian Empire, even the work created by 
Catherine the Great,” Putin said.

This man is more out of his fucking mind than I originally thought.

I am motivated here and now to recite the history of the region over the 
last 200 years, and place it on infinite scroll for others to bear witness.

Squandered!? You son of a bitch.  Tell that to the 14 million you and your 
predecessors starved to death, and murdered for quota, in the last 100 years.  
About the rest of the holocaust that took place in the villages and forests.

Regarding Catherine, I wouldn't trade a single Kossack hetman, or
a single Galician Queen, for thousands of Catherines, and whatever
work you think she accomplished for Ukrainians.

A sad day.  And I am certain that there are many ignorant out there
who have no appreciation of the history of the area, except for the news
of the last few years.

You can't take back what wasn't fucking yours to begin with.

cc: Chagall, God
2022

Don't get fooled
yet again, neither
the near and long,
nor the mid terms;
you cannot un-unfurl
the banner once
it's been draped, 
cinched, tied down

A change of heart 
does not occur overnight,
but appeasement comes
and goes every moment,
every day

find your center;
dwell there

cc: Chagall, Team Leaders
bcc: Daltrey, Townshend
2022

Though I did not inherit your surname,
and I regret that those who did, did not
live on, I take from you Love to be free,
that precious right to exist without fear

I will perpetuate the line, propagate
the species of untethered ideas, for what 
does it matter that She was my forebear

Today I christen myself
the rightful heir to your sky,
to the wind you leave us

cc: Chagall, Mikhail
2022

Frankly, it's those of us today 
who are not crying, who need
some medication

cc: Chagall, Dr. Leakey, Dr. Leary, 2022

The skin 'round my eyes, red and raw,
infused with salt, itches fiery, alive,
shifts focus from my heart to a deeper center,
   the kulaks are nearly all gone, along with the wheat,
   and the church bells aren't ringing, instead 
they moan collectively

Nomads must settle down, 
once settled then amassed,
to till the land for the Others
who build factories, where Workers 
arise to steal said land, which bears
the fruit to sustain the people

But which people?
Such is the plan

Final dawns:
summarily,
   merrily...

She stands beside the field of grain,
grips the ancient trident while her father kills 
all of the livestock rather than give them up,
the skin around his eyes red and raw

cc: Chagall, Bachor, Sokach, 1913, 2022

If you can make a positive difference in a life,
don't hesitate to do so.  Start near, work your way out,
then move outside in.  To do otherwise is ill-advised.

cc: Chagall, B.F. Mickey

Nobody
I know
knows
I am

cc: Chagall '22

I lie to the children.
I tell them that the white light
of tracers is angels running
across the sky, and the booms
of the shells are the triumphant
sounds of the onset of parades.

As my parents lied to me, 
and my grandparents them.

cc: Chagall 2022

My mom saved pennies in coffee cans,
copper, zinc, sometimes nickel, and 
those from the war-years of steel;
Martinson, Yuban, Chock-Full-O'-Nuts, 
Savarin, Sanka, and Nescafe

she kept them in the kitchen closet,
beside a stack of coin wrappers 
tied with a rubber band, fifty pennies
to a roll, tight half-dollar cylinders

58 rolls
was the rent

she would rather a home, a garden,
a proper bath, than the railroad
rooms we lived in, I'm certain

slums are slums, and
dreams are dreams,
and years go by
so quickly

when she died we found boxes,
new clothes still with tags on, 
for events not occasioned, small 
knick-knacks for shelves unadorned, 
doilies not placed atop any dresser

in her eyes I see love,
unconditional, never longing

call me when you get home

cc: Chagall 2022