Point of Access

Walking on cracked glass,
to appease the masses.
To get into Heaven,
I'd like one of those passes.
A place so fantasized and romanticized,
must have a formula for entry. 
I can't be an everyman.
A two-bit nobody. 

Stand-out,
like a flamingo in the sand.
Steal money from a tip jar,
with God's right hand.
Make a lasting impression,
on an unremarkable slab.
Lose yourself through the window,
of a taxicab.
Accomplish an inception dream,
not your own. 
Arrive at the Gates,
and you're handed a phone.
In deep conversation with yourself,
you whisper,
could the instructions come,
any clearer?  

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