By Ron Silliman
for Pat Silliman
Hard dreams. The moment at which you recognize that your own death lies
in wait somewhere within your body. A lone ship defines the horizon. The
rain is not safe to drink.
In Grozny, in Bihac, the idea of history shudders with each new explosion.
The rose lies unattended, wild thorns at the edge of a mass grave. Between
classes, over strong coffee, young men argue the value of a pronoun.
When this you see, remember. Note in a bottle bobs in a cartoon sea. The
radio operator's name is Sparks.
Read the full poem on the Poetry Foundation website.
Ron Silliman, "You" (I) from The Alphabet. Copyright © 2008 by Ron Silliman. Reprinted by permission of University of Alabama Press.
Source: The Alphabet (The University of Alabama Press, 2008)