Poetry: The Good
by Neekoo Collett
The good is infinite,
its arms are neverending.
They circle, swoop,
drag us to bone-crushing embrace.
“I do not want to be loved,”
we cry, palms upturned.
“Leave us be, leave us be.”
Without register the do-gooders persist,
stroking our faces with Martian fingers,
long thin instruments of the good,
the order of the day.
Babies scream, a siren–
the good is not good, not pure, not human.
It is canvassed with robotic precision
forced into a bag of iron screws and steel plates.
Always, what is good hurts someone.
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March 18 2009 02:14 pm | Uncategorized
October 28th, 2009 at 12:23 pm
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