to a lovely couple

the tattoo ink came down like a rain that permeates the walkways until the worms forget the earth and air

and they become fishing hook fodder for local fisherbys.

the tattoo ink announced its arrival with the buzz of a permissive apartment door, then stayed to eat pork rinds with 40's and rosanne on.

actually, it stayed longer than that, it became casual friends with the soggy cardboard at the corner of metropolitan and union.

it stayed like the everyday desires:

ginger ale; clean socks; a haircut; a solid, uninhibited fuck.

sometimes, i would walk to the sofa (or bathroom floor) and try to rouse the tattoo ink.

"get up" i would softly whisper to the holes in his ears

"don't you have shit to do today?"

but he stayed, a forever reminder that free rent is the best rent, as long as it's you paying the price.