Interior Resistance/Interior Persistence

I step gently, accused by mirrors, and laughing with pains: this genius affliction, those rich apricots, and morning fruits: to live discernment, or to vie with intuition, where stallions graze nightmares: this breezy heart-war, those keen rebirths, or subtle gravity: by minor escapes, or tragic loses, our brains conformed by travesty: (such essence and fire and clothe this winter at promises this coffee as minor stimulant and years to familiar tables: our furniture squeaking, our ceilings giggling, and our skies painted in brilliant opaque[isms]: this nebulous existence, those few pavements, or this habit centered by rationalisms: our grannies to earth, our mothers to urns, and souls to mystic realities: those green mantis, those natural objectives, or such closeness that stirs uneasiness: those welted emotions, those wilted feelings, at admiration framed in walls: our graphic memories, our dependence upon hopes, and exacted whispers giggling at positivity): those summer bugs, this leaf-eating ant, to extend our guitars serenading discomfort: that smiling arc, this deep concentration, and worlds that disapprove of interaction.     It once satisfied; this fair radiance, and such as life we perish: those gray meanings, this deep allure, those enchanting attitudes: to become nuisance or nuance or tragedy where souls flee or fly or damage something underdeveloped: that inquisitive agony, those droopy mirrors those rapturous sentiments or tales to lies where solitude demands validation: our insecure children, this weapon internally, and those chaotic opinions: this shift against reality, this imagination, or this perfect home while others are wincing: that winning hope-grain, or those losing memories, while deep thought pictures that sleight of hand: this carnival magician, this pushy vase, or pantomime existence: that bold endeavor, this selfish poet, or cries destined for that touch: our affections for strangers, our cries for something perfect, to force those atypical behaviors—as running to rivers, or looking at landmines, to invert a feeling while lining our presentation: those shivery spoke-spaces, this wooden trestle, or that stranger after five years of lying: moreover, this curse; this fabulous, magnificent, even existentially magnified curse: those rubric machines, that scientific glow, where at an instance a person decides upon dislikes: those autumn colors, this worried reality, or this dunking pool: as armor cries, while vanished from essence, to realize this chasm between internal and external projections: as running from dysfunction, while at self with mallets, to analyze this mental banshee—this roof of rhinestones, this wishful cobblestone, or this path leaping through memories: those strangers aiding, this stranger at animosities, where helpers feel envious of butterflies: this minor reality, this shift in temperaments, or this ailment where is seems impossible to tame instincts.     We ignore or we shiver or we address every discomfort: we dance we sing we pardon infraction: this symphony cringing, this woman at luxuries, this monster disguised by upper-echelons: this fall too steep, this rise barely upon surfaces, our dreams mingling with realities—this shift in tensions, this suspended day-cry, or such by admiration to ask that question—where self clamps to fuzziness, while rationality erases its tar, at turns this rising profanity: as men honing, our pianists destined, where those feelings seem distasteful: to drift with chaos, wishing upon a trefoil, or caught for running too soon.