To fully understand this poem, please
click on this link and visit the Headfooters
Art Gallery website.
By Don Iannone
Perfectly imperfect circles,
with gangly arms and legs,
reaching out for love.
Simple ungraceful lines,
each living in a separate world,
on the same page of life.
Freshly poured pallets of color,
spilling over their boundaries,
not unlike the passion and fear
hiding inside all of us.
Obsessive, intricate etchings,
intent upon filling the blind inner emptiness,
suspended somewhere between the heart and mind.
Distorted images of childish joys,
submerged in deep pools of self-abuse and anguish.
Sunny faces hanging
with crooked smiles from dimly-lit buildings.
Puzzling gray paint smears,
hiding the endless inner labyrinths
the artist walks daily in search of sanity.
One-dimensional wild beasts, engorged phalluses, and
simple chairs made from broken branches.
Headfooters, outsider art, raw vision,
all glimpses of reality from imprisoned minds,
all jarring reminders of the fine lines in life for all of us.