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.
Want to read the rest?
Please login.
New to Narrative? sign up.
It's easy and free.