Li Bai

In America who would Li Bai be,

A homeless person, always traveling,

I saw you last on the upper Yangtze,

You loved me for my mind unraveling.


I drink my three hundred ounces a day,

Write my poems on the train from Hoboken,

I saw you last on the Champs-Elysees,

You mocked my bad French, my heart's still broken.


On my down days I want to ride and move,

Forget what it is I'm supposed to do,

Be a wheel with an ever-rolling groove,

Be a rail with nothing ever to prove.


Li Bai had beautiful calligraphy,

We both had beasts inside too big to free.


[Part III--Art/Lit]








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