WELCOME
Ken Norris
Welcome to this psychic disaster area
called poetry. Welcome
to this hot core of stillness. I was once like you:
I dreamed of a 1968 Chevy, slept solidly against my mattress,
woke to orange juice and the sober reality of facts.
One morning a blue butterfly landed on my 6 a.m. windowsill.
I haven't been the same since.
