wading through the cash flow of associated circumferences

breathing soaked inflamed pictures of last parroting essence
where has-been gas masks count subaltern folds like a doorpath
never leaving home or shelter for fear of losing the sting of music
resting your hair on quiet breathing, again, just a memory folded
never to be left without your shoes scattered in lost sand, indivisible
here she quakes with pillowing smoke not that they were sacred
but perhaps defensible given the statements made on cosmic trays