TFR Home Page | Contents | Prev. Page | Next Page | Comments |
by Gordon Edwards a streak of words paint squeezed from a crumpled foil tube, emotions smeared across the white enamel surface of an unlined page; finger painting with clips of things that press up against my diaphragm, as frames in a movie ad that grab your attention just enough to turn your head. If these pieces fall into place as notes on a music sheet and their sounds take you back to the top 40 tune that played from the dash radio when you grasped her hair as you turned to kiss her warm lips in the summer breeze flowing through the open blue Ford window... then the painting is the road sign and the journey through the canvas has begun. |
© Copyright 1997, 2024, The Fairfield Review Inc., All Rights Reserved.
Document last modified on: 05/04/1997