My eyes fold on the
past – a frozen wasteland
warming
These may be
false hopes, but they
heal the wounds we
savor
Insecure stains of the distant
slowly crawling closer
I hear their drums
pounding on a heartbeat further
A forged bellow creeps
somewhere between stomach and
mouth,
loosely fitting its skin to
match the crowd.
Joe Albanese is a writer of poetry and prose. Recently he had a piece published in the Fall 2016 edition of Sheepshead Review. In 2017 he has work to be published in Calliope and Adelaide Literary Magazine.
