The crisis is not an 
object but life movement, explosions  

funneling a hegemonic pulsation — and due to substitution  
Gustave Flaubert haunts this o
 
beside your double vanity, while keeping fit ...  
 
On the run, playing with tribal goals, how funny you are..  
There are bass chords you kept inside.  
Between descriptions, silence, a periphery.  
 
No way to describe — much less rhyme — hiding on the loose.   
 
Loosely hiding? Let’s compost for a mo.   
 
Flaubert loose in the air wonders how high an apartment we’ll have.