Imaginative Qualities of Actual Things - pg. 101

Not that she disliked the poems, she simply didn't remember them as a kind of genre poem she had read before; that seems fair enough, and certainly possible, considering the book. I know this book and it had those poems in it, all about Being Alive In The Fresh Air And Living With Your Woman And Eating Good Food And Smoking Pot And Watching Your Woman Getting Dinner Ready The Way Her Simple Skirt Molds Itself To Her Full Hips Outside The Voices Of The Children As The Evening Comes Down On The Mountains Fuck You America You Can't Change This. With a lot of Mexican friends (Spanish friends that is, in the great Southwest), and Indians drinking tokay and muscatel. Plenty of battered, dusty VW buses in evidence too. But the poet had gone away, gone to the Coast, I think.