Find and share the perfect poems.
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
Copyright © 2017 by Ana Božičević. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on February 22, 2017, by the Academy of American Poets.
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.
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 the transparent buses came barreling towards us:—it was there. Half of all Americans say they believe in angels.