Thursday, January 3, 2019

All I Have To Do Right Now

Today I watched a pepperoni pizza give itself
up to two chewing mouths on television –
a commercial for two chewing mouths, I think,
though I do not recall where you can buy them –
and I looked around at the results of my exquisitely
ridiculous good luck at being just where I could
not imagine not existing – what reference
could I have for elsewhere? – and I betook myself
from my warm January New York City private lair –
to tell you I live there is to exult in it – and with
a practiced fine alacrity I wrapped myself into
a long back winter coat and pulled down on my
thug-shaved head a watch cap, also black, which
made me feel like Jean Genet, and made my way
to get two slices from a pepperoni pizza at a pizza
place on Second Avenue around the corner
between Second Street where I reside and Third,
where Quentin Crisp once lived – a handful
of inconsequential minutes with a consequence:
a renewed acquaintance with one patent fact,
that I lived in a place where I profoundly couldn’t
ever be alone. I lived among who knew how many
hundred thousands of New Yorkers in a compass
which expanded within outer city limits to eight
million and a bit. This was lustrously brought
home to me by seeing not more than sixteen
or twenty strangers bustling by me, easily
accommodated by the large capacious freezing
winter night. Because there’s always space for
the anointed denizens of this unbreachable great
center of the Soul, this city that I nonetheless have
breached and now can eat a pizza in and write
a paean to and do a drawing for I do not have the least
compunction to explain or to forgive. All I have to do
right now is all I can’t not do: pizza-fully live.

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