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"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

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 Božičević

Ana Božičević

Ana Božičević is the author of Rise in the Fall (Birds, LLC, 2013) and Stars of the Night Commute (Tarpaulin Sky Press, 2009).

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
poem

I never want to get any
More new things.
I wanna wear out these shoes white
And walk on the rug till it's perfectly
Colorless
To wear the shoes dark
Walking on an abyss that's been worn out
The shoes carry me,
I can’t help it,
I fly above the desert with no name

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