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.

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