People at Irvine hated this next poem and so I didn't-- it was--
the school system is on quarter, it's a quarter system.
And I didn't go for the rest of the quarter
after they gave me a hard time, that was three weeks.
I just went to a teacher.
Because they got into the New York poets.
They like to bullshit a lot.
[LAUGHTER]
Some days, a three-hour workshop would be nothing but bullshit.
Snap, snap.
They'd be hitting each other with all this talk, you know?
I could never keep up with them.
But, anyway, they were giving me-- they
hated my poetry, those New York people.
I didn't like theirs either.
[LAUGHTER]
It's called "Recapture."
When you run off, I start after you.
As the sun rolls overhead and rocks in the sky's blue hands.
As always, I find you, beat you.
The corner of your mouth bleeds and your tongue slips out,
slips in.
You don't fight me.
You never do.
Going back, you stumble against me
and I grab your wrist, pulling you down.
Come on, bitch of my love, while it is still easy.