Running

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

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.

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