two poems undivided by formalities

the mistake is religon,
those marred catherdrals of locks
placed on heaven's gate,
the mistake is free decision,
as if Jeff Buckley chose to drown
while falling off that dock into the lake.

engine symphony, materialist substrate,
idealist repetoire, and false malady
darkened by failure kings.

and i dont plan on answering
any more interrogatives as
they cross my sequence like jokes
with hooks, and i don't plan
on sealing the deal of ancient
harmony in exchange for a bunch
of shifty eyed dirty looks
because the rhyme scheme is really
simple; there are godless saints
and there are saintly crooks,
there are birthmarks in Van Gogh's paint
and there are death sentences
in popular books.

if i had a choice
between being loved by one person
and hated by everybody else
or being loved by everybody
and hated by one person
i would choose the former
because let me tell you
that it is impossible to love everybody
but it is possible to love somebody
like everybody,
it is possible to see everybody
in that one person, as it is possible
to become a part of that person
instead of being torn apart by
everybody. but,
don't let me tell you about possibilities
because you have to figure that out
on your own, you have to become possible
before certain possibilities become impossible,
like being in love with a person who isn't there;
like hating who you are,
like ------------------

remember that bad advice
either has no context or comes in the form of a poem,
remember that bad advice
comes in the form of ultimate tyranny
masqurading in the form of friendly suggestion,
and remember that I don't remember;
I am just someone who read the newspaper one day
I am just someone who walked to the park
and I am just someone who delivered a couple
of letters from out of state on the porches of
the recently confused, I am just a somebody rambling
in the shoes of a nobody,
my deepest friend.