Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Alex Bex Oct 2015
Along the august avenues,


modern temples of the night
before a gasping skyline.




©2014 Alex Bex - www.alexbex.net
Quartier Latin, Montreal, May 2014
Alex Bex Oct 2015
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
Alex Bex Oct 2015
In late year retrospect,

half night suggests,
beyond Darlington junction,
an amber lining at street's end.



©2013 Alex Bex - www.alexbex.net
Darlington, Montreal, November 2013
Alex Bex Oct 2015
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
Alex Bex Oct 2015
Bayou,
a vague haven
where the sky trembles
when howls the shadow man.




©2014 Alex Bex - www.alexbex.net
Alex Bex Oct 2015
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
We are the kids in humanity that even with support, friends, and family we still feel like we are  missing something.
We will go all sorts of ways except the right way to find what we are looking for.
We are the kids who*  can't find themselves  living a future.
We are the kids who  don't want to go searching for our selves any more.
We are the kids who got  tired  and  couldn't take  feeling  lonely anymore.
We are  those kids.
We are  **the lost kids.
I do not authorize the authority to duplicate any of my writings, photography, or any other personal information.
Sara passed her the bottle and stared as she drank, Tracing the outline of her figure so carefully. Oh How Sara couldn't help  herself . “What? What's Wrong?” The girl said. Sara stood there in silence for a few moments and then turned away. “Nothing”. Sara sat there in contemplation. Slowly she turned and kissed her. Though it was only for a few seconds, Sara sworn she was breathless. The girl froze in shock, mouthing words that had no meaning or sense. Sara could no longer breathe and regret filled her lungs. Sara stood up and preparing to walk away when a hand stopped her in her tracks. The girl looked at her. The girl said nothing, but her glowed and her grip tightened. No words were exchanged. The girl eyes said it all as she reeled Sara in and kissed her and then again once more.
Miss Clofullia Sep 2015
You know where the ground is,
‘cause you’ve been there one too many times;
lying on your stomach, face down,
to avoid “pulling a Bonzo”,
or just standing on your side,
all curled up, in a fetal, counter-plunge position,
like in that movie.. the one that you loved
and watched over and over again,
only for the mirror scene.

I think I know what the frustrating part is for you:
you can always see the sky,
but getting there doesn’t seem to be
right up your alley.. even though you live near the airport.

And this destroys you.
That cracked up pain that climbs up
your leg every night, before bed down.
You know what this is!
However, you have no power over it.
You had a very long dilly-dally day
and now all you can do
is hope that you won’t
wake up on the floor again
and maybe, just maybe, if you plan it
well enough in your mind, you’ll
wake up on cloud 7,
with that big idea and with the means
to ******* accomplish something.
Brent Kincaid Aug 2015
I am really not passible
Just **** as possible
For a well-worn *****.
And, they call me Missy
Because I don’t think I can
Act like a masculine man
So spare me your hissy fit
Go someplace and get over it.

I can walk well in high heels
Don’t need any training wheels.
My taste in clothes is excellent
Not the slightest bit recalcitrant.
I’m fully into the new club scene
About half way to a drag queen.
One more piece of women’s wear
I’ll be ready to go about anywhere.

My movements are very delicate
And that is, of course, deliberate.
You get more if you advertise
And some assets I can’t disguise.
I’m six feet tall in my stocking feet
As spicy as Red Hots and twice as sweet.
If you don’t like your she-girls tall
Then you don’t know what’s good at all.

You’ll find me in cabarets, everywhere.
We’ll be up at the bar or in a chair
Showing off our legs and swinging
Lip-synching the words the juke is singing.
We’ll appreciate a drink, if you are buying,
We’ll make your day complete without trying.
We’re full of fun and know lots of jokes.
We’re a short vacation for the right blokes.

(And, no. It is not autobiographical.)
Next page