Over staffed and under fed
Spanish waiters
rush around with
waistcoats of wisdom
wearing black shoes
of sordid shift-work soles.

They greet and speak to every new
tourist, and regular, as if a
brother, sister, mother, second-cousin-twice-removed
stepmother, yet really they are:

the ephemeral fodder of the
cheap, low-cost-airline,

the flash and it’s gone spine of most cities
on the map,

the ‘Sorry, I left it in a Barcelona Café, could I get it back on insurance?’
baseball cap, that most sightseer marionettes wear, back to front,

the standing in line, waiting to complain,
tourists that know nothing of decorum.

So the Spanish waiter served me my coffee
and whispered in my ear,
‘Disfrutar de su día senor’,
that was,
'Enjoy your day Sir’.

My heart is a graveyard.
Full of all my past imaginary lovers.
Full of memories, and scars.
Full with all the drugs, and dead fallen stars.
All of the dead kitties and birds lying on the streets.
They all rest inside of me.
This graveyard inside my heart is full of all the
sounds that made me feel my emotions burn.
Full of all the fools who have hurt me.
It's full of rage, chaos, and hate that I had boarded
under my skin since I was just a child.

Once you've entered my heart consider yourself dead.

When I will embrace your chest by my chest at that time
You will comprehend how mature my love is
How lukewarm it is
When my lips dancing up and down will utter the word “love”
You will realize lips that never lie
How many drops of rainwater can make you soggy?
My one stroke of lip kiss can do more than that…
When you become the subject of my poem
My pen starts to dance like a new born baby does seeing his mother
My page is never touched by the vilest caterpillars
When they come to do the sting they find you are laughing in my poems………