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UNCLEAN THING

Published Thursday, May 25, 2006 by GABRIEL C. ZOLMAN | E-mail this post

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(Part four of a ten poem story-arc. From the "Carnal Forgeries" series.)


UNCLEAN THINGS

(I felt it as I slept...
And soon I saw it in my dreams.
And in those dreams, I wept
When I saw that gaping cleft
Left in my soul by thee...)

Ghosts of concsience rattle the bedboards;
The others shake the windows and doors.
And just how much more can I take?
We'll call it love, but it's like rape--
Like a succubus, a disease...
Subdeity of hopes and dreams,
Or a poltergeist of passion's roar.
Love, and unclean thing inside me...
I'm possessed by that which I adore.

I feel fevered, yet I am cold...
Because she sold more than her soul.
Love can't be bought--understand--
But you rent it if you can.
It's like possession from the grave
(Slave to a burning bush God made
Hot like the angel's flaming coal).
I thought I pulled the strings some way...
Instead, a puppet you behold.

(I must stand up, reject
That influence that's crept into me...
I must step back, deflect,
The instant I detect
That my decisions don't involve me...)


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  • I'm GABRIEL C. ZOLMAN
  • From Hell, Arrakis, United States
  • "If words could kill a man, I'd bury you."
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