02 April 2016

untitled.

Tattoo shop 
passed a thousand times
minus once.

Told the bearded man to write the letters
L I V E
on the palm side
proximal chunks of four fat fingers.

I mean it in the intransitive I said,
taking measure.

He said that makes sense
since he didn’t take me for an entertainer.

Well, shit.

You got any tattoos?
No.
This will hurt.
Yeah.

His girlfriend in the corner asked,
why live
I reached for death with that hand, ma'am.
Oh.
Her eyes looked me over with woman's burden toward life, and they knew enough, God bless her.

He buzzed his ink machine a bit more,
then said,
sooner or later, we all need to be slapped by our own hand.  

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