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Ben Gillespie Aug 2011
From smithson's crystaline jetty, I spy.
With my little eye, an isle of the dead.
Surrounded by the bland entourage of buoys
I stand heavy and still for an hour, but dry.
Wandering in my loneliness,
While I want to swim around the jetty of your eyes.
Ben Gillespie Aug 2011
Flurries of birds lament with me,
alone on this rock, as I appear to be.
But sat with the island, solice offered their calls
In front of the lake, it is not who enthralls
Who used to circle around my hand,
the last of the hourglass, lonely piece of sand.
Ben Gillespie Aug 2011
III
A most beautiful river once crossed my path
and took from my eyes, cut out exact.
as she placed them upon her buttercup petals.
I find that making least noise, myself, the empty vessel.
Speculation is bound by my own physics
and just once I ask that eros might visit.
Take my greys and portraits painted blue,
mix it for the colour I nearest choose.
Ben Gillespie Aug 2011
Those footsteps down that hallway floor,
behind burnt sand and off white door
blossoms a fruit that taught me to write,
and speak about the scent of Alphabet's sight
In evening, falls from tree like a clop of step
and removed from its roots, nests in my lap
Something so serene seen only in dreams.
her last words spoken are clarified and clean.
Ben Gillespie Aug 2011
Oil
Fumes induce this, the nauseating nest.
It dictates what nectar I should drink.
The hues are spoken with cherub's breath
while I quote Icarus and the glory of blue.

The snail, you don't love me, and still.
Your ephemeral shape kisses my lips
just as Judas would kiss, but with eyes,
dark as winter showers with autumnal halos
in bloom.
The smiling blue-white path in front of me grows appeal and I chase.
Ben Gillespie Aug 2011
I built a bar with Jackson *******
he gave me lemons,
and we built skyward with the salt of the earth,
drank with God.
He is a devil when he's drunk.
So be my front tooth, sing lisped with me, for what its worth.
Ben Gillespie Jul 2011
No crocus' will bloom at the bed of this hill
as Orcus attends the open chest, spilled
into a lake that drowns these broken oaths.
Along with the words pronounced the most
in pages of prose spoke in endeavor.
Like the perpetual lie, "I'll love you forever."
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