blind report - what I think soft shroud is (without looking)

the poem is a mouth, describing its own tongue, teeth, inner cheeks, inner lips, palate. the mouth is a debt. (nietzsche said we use pain to burn memory and that way we can have debt, and that way we can have a 'People of Thinkers', - " trust, seriousness, tastelessness, and practicality")
first it was that poem though, the burning on of memory to allow the creation of 
an elaborated mouth.


now it is concurrent nights. time doesn't move forward there. it's beautifully warm and static. that would be slow to write. 

warm place under the surface                                enteric brain, cat-minded body brain soft is                                 several inches of warm water under the surface                 a little bubble

silver egg with a wet chin                thigh remembers ending in chilly weed in the chilly dark                      above is mirror ball  brain                   turning silver in the warmth where the sun light can     between is the stump both giving and receiving                      fish-minded thigh-brain turns                the ganglion can 

     a little bubble

  silver egg

 a memory                                                    with a wet chin

a horse opens up a tract of land

in quiet hours

the people are laying their tables white

expecting the volcano

like we covered you with hats

to shield you from the sun

lovely body on our lawn now spouts

red filaments fountain fat petals pink and gold

a porous bread

           horse sniffs the air

           moves up into the hills

rain will bring ash

peach ash for loam apricot

ash for a mantle

 in dimness

a horse

stretches out her neck

touches her nose

to an abandoned pool

where eggs 'release

from the slippery strands, & float easily about'

silver eggs coming
laxly into
a green glow

last big dream was some kind of reunion with high school friends D & C in a hotel room. told them we were splitting up and then - it was a couple of weeks ago, I don't really remember it now - they said they never liked him, and didn't like me either. Laughing contempt, I was, we were a joke between them. they didn't want me around them. horror that they were doing this to me now. I think I set fire to the hotel. But the dream went on and on, sharp and brutal, twisting on that rejection, like being stabbed with a fork over and over.