About this Poem 

"This poem is a play-by-play of a dream. I stole the twist at the end from Bukowski (!). I think of 'Joyride' as pop art."
—Ana Božičević

Joyride

Ana Bozicevic

Skinny dirt road
In the middle of the ocean.
That led to the house of art.
I took it. The engine nearly
Drowned. I lied that it was fun
That I'd do it again. When I got to
That shore
The house was gone and when
I looked back, so was the path.
Now I'm old. Drown in my bed
A thousand miles inland.
For years I thought
I could
Art my way back. Cats sing
Of rose dawns. This country's a
Mirror image
Of the one I left, except
I've bad dreams. And
You're the only
Person who's not here.
Is it the same
For you.

Copyright © 2013 by Ana Božičević. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on November 26, 2013. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.

Copyright © 2013 by Ana Božičević. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on November 26, 2013. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.

Ana Bozicevic

by this poet

poem
I woke up real early to write about death (the lake through the trees) from
the angle of the angel. There's the kind of angel that when I say
Someone please push me out of the way
Of this bad poem like it was a bus.—well, it comes running &
tackles me and oh, it's divine football—Or
in the dream when