The Poetry and Prose of John Omniadeo

The Poetry and Prose of John Omniadeo

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

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.

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