Tender Narcissisms

Dreaming, in solitude, tender Narcissisms;
these silent songs are running
through this body
 as blood in the night
the stars are in there and
still memory is but a  simulcrum -
all that remains of event -
dreams dreams dreams

consider reality as so small and
light so intricate in its
relationship with matter,
 so structured such that
 all which is not 'now'
 truly becomes dream.

Goethe thought so.

it is a thought has become my solace

It is almost so
that our frail fears of
 impermanence have created these
 delusions of solidity which
haunt us with the
complicity we attach
to events in this world

this world drifting in dream

madly swirling in
convection around event
stretched between its
 singularities:
the stirrings of the universe

intricate slumbers these -
thinking of the self as an eddy