The Isness

Dreaming’s when everyone
Stops reading, starts writing,
Since you can’t do them both

At once, and dream reading
Requires that the dreamer
Composes what’s to read.

So the writing goes on
Along in the closed head
That will wake and forget.

This is the holiest
Form of composition,
Meant for no audience,

Not even later self,
Not even imagined
State censors, spies, or gods,

This dreaming parallel
To those waking moments
When there’s no good story,

Nothing to remember,
Nothing to put up with,
Nothing any other person

Will be able to live,
Judge, evaluate, just
Being being as is.