Art Criticism III
Not a single image
but a kaleidoscopic succession
until all he sees is you
Not a single word but all words
in all alphabets
hammered out one by one
key after key
in various fonts
until the page is an abstract evening
A monolithically white canvas (oil? acrylic?
cloud?) that he stares at until snowblind
Now what? dreams?
It is dusk: a crepuscular white
A snow leopard's tightrope is the horizon
R. L. Swihart was raised in Michigan, but currently lives in Long Beach, California with his wife and two young daughters. He bides his time teaching high school mathematics to inner-city Los Angelenos, helping out around the house, and traveling (whenever he can).
Potentially, might be ...