tattoo

in graduate school years ago, we thought of getting inked for when we finally would succeed.  h* was doing the management of politics, j* was doing clinical psych, i was doing art.  h* had a series of girls who'd visit the dorm after his soccer, until i was finally afraid to greet them, afraid to say the wrong name.  h* would get engaged and married first years before finishing school. j* would travel weekly, post pictures, as then he had eaten chocolates and played violin in the middle of papers.  why do you do clinical, i asked him once over breakfast.  the same reason you do what you do, he said.  did j* got his one-way mirror glass house the way he said he would?  i look at my left arm now and see the many studies i've had on its skin, the attempts of corporeal permanency.  what about that poem in the book starring the three of us in that university dorm at *?