Like an old abandoned town in the west,
a desert town, closed casinos, theaters, dust, sun,
there remains a saloon, a parlor...
I enter through the swinging bar doors
tables vanishing off into the wooden darkness,
barstools in front of me,
at the counter a couple pizzas on silver trays,
and old Italian man, white apron, flour,
I ask for a slice. $2...
I've always known this was the greatest pizza,
hoping to return here in and of my dreams,
sometimes not quite reaching it
yet knowing it's there, nearby...
I bite into the thin dough perfectly burnt, soft,
chewy, salty, earthy, as fulfilling as meat;
the sauce, tangy, alive as blood;
the cheese, creamy, held together perfectly as flesh.
I could eat a dozen of these slices.
I'm so glad to have found this place again in my dreams...
I awake in bed covered with blood,
chewed chunks from my cheeks and tongue,
half of my teeth fallen out