Along the august avenues,


modern temples of the night
before a gasping skyline.




©2014 Alex Bex - www.alexbex.net

He visits gangs in the meadow.


From crumbling shelters
of bored youth,
the sigh of a certain train in the distance-
Shapes form on their closed eyelids.


In empty lots, they shout
and pound the earth,
they try to be heard.


Mischief under cold
summer lamp posts.
Cloud breaths rise,

alone again,
out from their metal coffins.


©2014 Alex Bex - www.alexbex.net

Here by night,
the sky shines in ghostly ways-
gray veils slither high,
cover up the city
seize every street corner.


Among the chants and shouts,
scattered hawkers and thievish plays,
Raval pleads for another day.


Its veins at some flat time
sputter one after another,
the Drab
tightly dragging their belongings,
or a brown cigarette
they eternally cherish.



-



Fence shudders from the court
awake sunken couples-


Head slightly tilted to the left-
through curtains of smoke,
she makes him laugh, lights another cigarette.


Her bronze skin glistens
in the dark sun

taunting from the window.


©2015 Alex Bex - www.alexbex.net

The season finally slumps

and in the tender light behind the pane,
tired glances over swirling glasses-

couples pretend worlds
from their worn leather couches
and fade away on a warm brass note.



©2015 Alex Bex - www.alexbex.net