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WAITING FOR WORDS Waiting for words, I live in rooms. Bitterly broken rocks kneel for a rosewood Buddha, European birds prance through imported African trees, singing up invisible frontiers. There is the feel of not to feel, a garden of stone for what couldn’t wait. Contempt chews away at me, a dog’s rubber bone. I am my father’s son, blood unblessed, world a hex. Father: he carried letters to big houses in a little cold town. Books & beer were his gangplanks to sleep. No friends, no kin: nothing to say: I won’t have anyone thinking better of me. Waiting for words, I remember what I always remember: All that is mine, beloved & pleasing, will change & vanish. I miss the good witches, those lovely girls generously in the streets while I got by in torpid trailers. They sniffed waste when I wanted them. They wanted futures: I camped on the minute’s footbridge. Nevertheless, nevertheless, nevertheless: What heart they gave me, what heart they gave a heartless world: permission to live granted! All’s a wrangle & bargain now; our souk never closes. Waiting for words, I am old, forgetful of delight, walking backwards, waving goodbye. I read math dreams of alternate worlds, every road taken, every choice blossoming into consequence. Pretty to think so, so I think so, sadly, longingly, as if vanishing could be wished away. Waiting for words, I wait for you, goddess of ghosts, who made me, a strange poor boy, to sing away invisible frontiers. 31 J Tarwood
Montagne I Aquarellé, 2015 by ETEL ADNAN - Courtesy of Galerie Lelong, Photo by Fabrice Gibert 32
Page 1 and 2: Volume 3 Issue 2 Summer 2015 From t
Page 3 and 4: 58 Nada Faris Janus/Portunus 64 Ann
Page 5 and 6: Finding the words, oil on canvas 10
Page 7 and 8: Thinking of lost cities mixed media
Page 9 and 10: HIDDEN STORIES On the upper slopes
Page 11 and 12: the country. She raised three sons,
Page 13 and 14: Moon Dancing in the Courtyard of th
Page 15 and 16: She slowly, sinuously leans towards
Page 17 and 18: He ties the scarf back around his n
Page 19 and 20: NIDAL ...just so... They slowly ris
Page 21 and 22: MANJU Those only, Miss. I watch tho
Page 23 and 24: Seek - acrylic on canvas - 50 x 70
Page 25 and 26: “The sexually immoral will be in
Page 27 and 28: I flop down onto the bed and cover
Page 29 and 30: “From the Eye of the Sun” O chi
Page 31 and 32: To Market, to Market Omdurman, Suda
Page 33: Demagogue The lie spread from his l
Page 37 and 38: Psychoacoustics no. 1 by Mark tardi
Page 39 and 40: Falafel Chickpeas herbs and spices
Page 41 and 42: Traveler When you visit the dead do
Page 43 and 44: Etel Adnan: What drives me on? I re
Page 45 and 46: emerging from the ashes of our patr
Page 47 and 48: The Melancholy Oud By Sahar Mustafa
Page 49 and 50: I nod and then he slides the instru
Page 51 and 52: Mother and The Lover’s Rock A bli
Page 53 and 54: TERROR/MATHEMATICS After the behead
Page 55 and 56: Losses 1. All those nights we didn
Page 57 and 58: Dinnertime The forks to probe are w
Page 59 and 60: ORCHARD Given a river last I saw yo
Page 61 and 62: Growing Up Solid in Kuwait At first
Page 63 and 64: “This secret breathing”: The Po
Page 65 and 66: trust me if words do not first crac
Page 67 and 68: PROPHET A river sloshes through Egy
Page 69 and 70: Vereshchagin’s “Doors” All en
Page 71 and 72: See/Unsee - acrylic on canvas - 100
Page 73 and 74: Right after finishing his story, my
Page 75 and 76: Ghorab il-Bein —“O stranger of
Page 77 and 78: NIGHT (an excerpt) Tides: yes, brea
Page 79 and 80: Artists’/Writers’ bios: Etel Ad
Page 81 and 82: Kim Jensen is a Baltimore-based wri
Page 83: Mark Tardi is the author of the boo

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