“It was just a trip. I wanted some decoration.
            See, the one on my wrist is for everybody.
            The one on my tit is for me and my friends.
            Just a little treat for the boys, like icing on the cake.”
                                                            -Janis Joplin

 

During the next five years, he tattooed a thousand hearts
and Florentine bracelets on teenage girls.
            He pressed the needle down—  Red ink mixing with blood. 
He moved in a circular pattern, gently filling in the lines
of a tiny heart. He could never stand in front of a crowd or live
on the road.  Couldn’t leave his 7th St shop in San Francisco.
            He used his needle like a microphone.
His ink on her skin, singing her song.