Actual

Memory is nonsense,

nothing ever really happened,

all is always only happening.

Meaning is provisional –

it interests less and less.

The things we thought

we ought to care about

transgress into what

can’t be said. And yet

there’s something adamant

about the color red: something

odd and burning in your gaze:

something actual, in other

words, which breaks

through the haze.





.