Poetry
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Circular motion. night and day chasing away, an endless cycle. Giuseppe Gillespie – September 2021
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Elbow crook in flex, supportive of baby’s head, warm rest beckoning. Giuseppe Gillespie – September 2021
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Filth raised up to wall, seeping in stained wallpaper such that never fades. Giuseppe Gillespie – September 2021
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Blood test prickle-sting, flowing crimson I witness, leaving me brown-bruised. Giuseppe Gillespie – September 2021
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Slow burn cigarette gives mind-numbing nicotine a nasty habit. Giuseppe Gillespie – September 2021
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Blackest of deep night, crude horrors await within.Enter if you dare! Giuseppe Gillespie – September 2021
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Energy, it’s all refined forms of energy. This ink will soon fade. Giuseppe Gillespie – September 2021
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Voices spilling from chorale-carrying wind notes. My neighbors’ gossip. Giuseppe Gillespie – September 2021
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Crude-cut distant sands. A blind man with plan in hand, promising riches. Giuseppe Gillespie – September 2021
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“Fly me to the moon.” So goes the old longing song, Were it so easy. Giuseppe Gillespie – September 2021
Giuseppe Gillespie Writing 