LI HO
I wonder what this guy was like,
drunk and all worked up
about a few indolent courtesans
and the abuse of genius.
I can see him raving
in the big cypress trees
down by the river,
jousting with the ornate dragons
of his thousand year old poems,
or chasing a vision of magnificent horses
through rush hour, intense and poor,
a sunset scavenger, unable to change,
dirty and hung over, watching the rich women
who read his poems and would not have him,
stalking their delicate processions,
engrossed in the red silk of their gowns.