October InvaderBetween screams of windOctober Invader by Garex
leaky faucet drips sound,
steady as the anorexic clock arm,
syncopation to soft rustling
of the withered leaf
sneaking beneath my door,
the gap there too large
to stop gust-propelled intrusions.
It scrapes the tile until
silence as it somersaults
mid-air, then, scritch-scritch,
further across the floor.
HushLean in, kiss ambrosial lips,Hush by Garex
not just to taste euphoria,
but to quiet contradictions
between statements they slip
and emotions your eyes espouse.
Just a Small SipStripes of tan, rust, purplesJust a Small Sip by Garex
distant slopes usually display
are muted today from shadows
strewn by gray clouds
spewing their contents as they
are speared in soft underbellies
by the peaks they pass.
Damp, the colors blend together.
Farther on, the wounds slowly heal.
Curving sheets spilling out shrink,
retracting from the ground,
leached away by dry desert air
before it can reach parched soil
until sunlight finally scatters
the mountains' blanket to the west
the atmosphere now amply saturated
to allow a few meager drops
to darken the sand, in spots.
Expedition into AbasementDim dash lights blurExpedition into Abasement by Garex
as my focus stretches beyond
to flat fabricated black.
Solid yellow, broken white flash past,
directing me I-don't-know-where.
Lament as it dawns on me:
endless hours behind the wheel
are solely occupied searching through CDs.
Put one in,
play one song,
immediately swap it for the next
containing another specific piece
to fit my mood.
Should I find it cheesy or apt-
really not sure which-
that the man's words on
The Postal Service, Track 4
seem my thoughts brought to life.
Simultaneously dreading nothing more
than my apprehension that her counter-vocals
exactly express the sentiments you hold,
yet have not the heart
to slip to my ears
from lips whose kiss left me,
such a short time ago,
always so weak in the knees.