Volume Three, Issue 1

Four selections from "Music and Lemonade"

Darryl Wawa

Music and Lemonade
A moment

Running on this open roof
the night sky on my back
lets me know that I can
Vision completed
this fresh view of the city lights
helps me concentrate
and shut the fuck up
to a breath of freedom
Wondering why you left
without saying a word today
your things still in the apartment
Thinking of why you couldn’t keep quiet
and how good answers are always delayed
My mother on the roof now urges me
to help her clean it
and I am secretly wishing that lightning
zaps her
How company kills and creates
joy, this easy mist on my cheeks
when I was running, a pleasant memory now
like you

Music and Lemonade 20:
A word is a key. A sentence is a sentence.

Make sure it fits.
Have you seen my soul? It left through my teeth and I could not get it back. It even said goodbye.
Did you feel this sigh?
Grin and gin.
One is never enough, but who said that you needed a hot dog for the relish?
See the cockroach, hear it, feel the shivers down your neck.
Lips and licorice breath.
Gut, grudge, glut.
Rot is law, defecation is ease, and life can taste like a moist vulva.
If you think of life as a cancer, a giant gland, you have to cut through it, these scarlet secretions running through your hands.
She is licking her fingers and so should you.
Your spine holds the first thing: marrow.
Sex, sin and sloppiness.
What's deeper than lust, than teeth sinking into flesh?
Shade makes it easier to look. Rain cools your bones. A fog promises.
A dream is a person or a place, or both. A syntax.
In a duet, better believe they’re clocking you.
Of doppelgangers and laxatives.
Make a frenemy of reason.
The dusty air hurts less than the silver bullet hurts less than the cold bronze hurts less than earth and worms.
If I wish I could then I should.

Music and Lemonade
Time to kill

Stuff to read
and time and it’s fear
on my hands and skin
how gentle eyes could
alleviate this.

Music and Lemonade
Eros 3

Hip fat and a tight dress speak
of the desire to be touched, and a juicy
mature mouth of pickiness
Sex is magnetic. Hands
feel what the eyes had devoured then know
of its yielding ripeness. These are the places
regret lingered when you left. Now I wonder
about your number through traces
of you in a cloud of people dressed in white.

Darryl Wawa: "I am a Port-au-Prince born Haitian-American who studied Photography and Creative writing. I enjoy chocolate and good books. That said, maybe a movie is a good book. I love to work with images and words and their pairing."

Top of Page

Table of Contents

Visit our Facebook page          Visit us on Twitter

editors AT rigorous DASH mag DOT com
webmaster AT rigorous DASH mag DOT com