What Good Thing Must I Do?

I wish it was fulfilling

And impelling

And possible

To do all that Good requires of me


And I wish that satisfying its demands

Could sustain me

In perpetual Goodness

Doing Good

Looking Good

Being Good

Feeling Good


Its peak beckons a summit

Like a beguiling mirage

Just beyond the contemptuous terrain


To savor it

Like a glorious tonic

Is to carve space

For future disappointment

And to become short-lived

In kind


I’d rather clamor

Toward something else–

Something that doesn’t make me feel

Like I should defend

Or apologize for the fact

That I am not quite enough–

Something which didn’t exhaust

Simply by the presence

Of its impossible demands


But I can’t see beyond Good

Which, I suspect, separates me

From actual contentment


If only I could find the limitations

And boundaries

Of Good

Which imprison

And dictate

And deplete


Such a cruel dictator

Clothed as Light, itself

But oh, the torment it deals

If its expectations are not met

And the secondary

And tertiary yields

Of further torment


Leaving behind only


Or becoming


As proof of its








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