My cousin Phil
was the first person
I saw, in the flesh,
with tattoos
he looked like a biker
but was quiet
and unassuming
at 7
it was my first lesson
in the dissonance
between media
and reality.
In college
my roommate Bob
had a patterned piece
on his back
with a bass cleft
at its center,
he was a musician
and the rightness of it
struck me
its emblematic portent
defining, complementing
who he was or perhaps
wanted to be.
It wasn't the aesthetic
that attracted me
or the culture
I wanted to join
but the talismanic power
of image
burned into flesh
symbols
that provide meaning
and fortify identity
details of time
and place and purpose
a record of life lived.
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