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Li Po Writes Li Po begins to write and spills Black shadow hair upon a mat, Beyond the paper rest the sweating goblet, Anxious resin wine, plum, and fat. Writing sounds where blood might clot. Little warring cages that he sought, Confusing raving gods With meditating frogs, Brushing ancient characters on rice logs. He marks the vacant campaign map. With a glassed in hand, Takes a sip of sap. Expounds in silence in a drunken jest, Where, even now, the strange faced west Approaches from four corners. In the courtyard hidden dragons peer, Startling, yes, his small sweet best That flutters; throws his still wet goblet Spinning into twilight, far; yet so near. |
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