Traversing The Sun

花 (huā) 间 (jiān) 一 (yī) 壶 (hú) 酒 (jiǔ), 月 (yuè) 下 (xià).
A bottle of wine among the flowers, the moon above.
Or a job in the city, tall buildings blocking the sun.
Money, sticky but not sweet, honey.
Walk away, fool. You can do it!
Your dog will miss you but not your mistress. For her there are many other do-you-love-me fool-mates lost in Herspace.
Now the cage is open, the zookeeper asleep. Escape! It's a once-in-a-lifetime event, like Venus traversing the sun, black dot on big yellow ball.
Go for the sun, run!
Fob the job, screw the mob;
Get your mitts off me, Romney!
You're not cutting my hair.

But it's hard these days, I know.
There are "complications," "circumstances," ...
And you worked so hard to become a slave.
Li Bai could just set out, jug of wine in hand, leaving the city behind in minutes. Fresh air.
The moon was his mistress, moody, misty, but always there for him if he waited. Moon cycles. And he died embracing her reflection in the water.
He didn't need a car, "transportation." What did that abstract word mean? His two feet got him there. And he had the joy of seeing that there was a there there. He could taste it, touch it, smell it, feel it; even lie upon its river banks and see dragons in the mists clinging to its craggy cliffs; unreal more real than real.
No one bugged it for a job. The good stuff, the healthy stuff, the stuff you wanted it gave away for free. And it didn't demand a urine sample, either, and there were no long lines. "Application," like "transportation," was another abstract word. And "infrastructure," if it had any meaning at all, meant the roots of trees, the beds of rivers, and a clean path to the sea.
So what are you waiting for, fool? Venus is no longer a dot on the sun. She passed through fire. Time is running out.
花 (huā) 间 (jiān) 一 (yī) 壶 (hú) 酒 (jiǔ), 月 (yuè) 下 (xià).
A bottle of wine among the flowers, the moon above.
—Louis Martin