Suite of Unreason

Nearly all my life I’ve noted that some of my thinking was atavistic, primitive, totemic. This can be disturbing to one fairly learned. In this suite I wanted to examine this phenomenon.


The moon is under suspicion.
Of what use is it?
It exudes its white smoke of light.

                       • • •

Her name was imponderable.
Sitting in the grass seven feet
from the lilacs she knew
she’d never have a lover.
She tends to her knitting
which is the night.
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