David Perez

Out By Yourself  

The air clings to my face
slowly my wrinkles appear
my vineyard of thoughts
multiplies uninhibitedly.  

Modestly I live with my steps
loving the country
flustered, exasperated.  
The tulips, the roses, 
the fragrance infiltrates
my curious imagination
filing, subtle, idle, firm.  

The day warms red,
fire that plows sense,
jump, simmer and turn,
the flower a color, a churn.  

Then the moon, breathing.
Relieving, soothing but coldly.
Never expressing in thought,
Never resisting the passion.


The Sparrow Flies

The sparrow flies and
hovers in the front of the mirror
seeing itself
it turns vain.

Pecking and fluttering
beside it
over and over
who is in that mirror?

It is beautiful
and well it should be
a perfect creation
in a strange theoretical cage.

Perhaps it is a fellow
trapped?
wondering persistenly
who's image that is.

Frustrated!
off to the roof top
then the telephone line
how should I approach this image?

Perhaps trying to free
the image itself
if I had a sense of time
I would.

But I am powerless
here in this universe
the sparrow
flutters and flutters...