The Meaning of Tattoos

This old poet's words are dying... slipping into damp craggy times though never calling out for help still reciting-still reciting. Thoughts exploding from gray volcanic lungs planting shiny seeds made of my diamonds. Onto the desert of an indifferent world. Lost in the me of their scratchy egos doll-eyed souls raped by the gears of technology. Now I'm staring down the last of the embers. No dry kindling left. Youth smirking at my dog eared years. Yes-I am jealous of you because I want to make love within eternities frame. but don't have the faith to do so. Yes I am old and envious- but my tattoos and battle scars are still etched in bold font.