The Other Side

A transgression
What is it
that makes it seem so sterile
Shivers and raised brows
is all it gets for performing so passionately


In the insidious cave of impulse
you don't know what colour to paint it
Is it white?

White as the morning light
through half open eyes
On a winter morning

It may even be a shade of black
Black like the boiling tar they placate potholes with


Take a cauldron and brew
all the words you will never speak
all the gestures you will never use
all the roads that will be blocked
till it lives
latent as vapour
at the back of your mind


Is it temptation?
Is it the lust of tearing through the naked wild?
Is it a sorrowful evolution?
Is it the cat hiding in the closet?
Did i find something i never thought i would?
Am i out of breath?
Is it a boxing match?
Will there be a stone pelting ceremony?
Is it something called random?
Will they find a word for it?
Will they put the word in a cage?
Is it the truant missing from school?



Is it Life itself?