Adept to Frozen Language

From the mark of scolding winter
To the prison of language’s limited ashtray
There are those who stare from the balcony of defeated highways,
And resume old tattering scales among rust and rattled emotions.

They are in our wake, dissolved within our immanent stall-way,
Presumed marked for sailors’s helmets and toddler claws,
Like a short-ended movie going to the sea of yester-morning’s sleep
And never knowing the difference between envy and captured emotions
Where joy never sleeps,
Nor pays attention to our labors.