The Way

a bird in the hand ain’t worth shit when you die

open that hand and let that bird fly

he might build a nest on your window sill

he might bring you gold in his little black bill

there was space in my bottle and space all around

you broke my bottle and i heard that space sound

sweepin up the pieces was just like a dream

i even heard love in that blood-curdling scream

well i’m goin back to my no longer home

where the park’s got the buffalo and the derelicts roam

i ain’t got nothin but i’m richer than croesus

crazier than trungpa—kinder than jesus

and i’m comin back here with monopoly money

to leave in your temple cuz i love you honey

old poets don’t die—they just have their say

and fade in your arms and that’s just the way

Love to  All,

-  John O.