There is a place into tonight

without fear, into depths of ourselves
There is a place; into tonight,
where the scalded snow is trickling.
The frozen lineage with shifting face grabbed red.
It is in forms of deepest sympathy.

There is sky black road that is frozen to the earth
that has been paced
and for miles the shoes on my feet are tired.
Once more a medley of words to stop the actions of
the streets which hold homes to the lost
(and to cross them is indefinite).
There is a place, feeling deeply with restraint.
There is a car which will follow all the martyred husbands to their haunts.
I am a heartbeat within my father.
He is the crossed roads within my town
where dim lit streets are sleeping in the cold.
He is singing. In frozen shingles above the beams
are the costly depths of ourselves.
I am beating within, though never given a thought
I am the heartbeat within my father. He is the icy waves sleepily lapping onto the rocks.

When can sordid heels turn around and come home?
Away from the sheathed sword, the empty eye lids, the starboard side of love;
where streets are filled with Fahrenheit's low end.

There is a place; into tonight, where scalded snow is trickling.
It is freezing. to be urged to change and change again.
Nature is as indecisive as it is furrowed.
He is as against himself as he is his actions.
We are seldom ever in favor of mending:
when we are reminded
we are in place
to think a way into new hands and fingers.