We all have seen it.
In the slide show he gives each summer.
There he is! (or There you are!) someone will say

I rented an atelier attached to the flat
of a fading French film star, Marie-Claire—
who sighed, shaking out her trademark titian hair,

The sky is desert blue,
Like the pool. Secluded.
No swimmers here. No smog—

He rode “no hands,” speeding
headlong down the hill near
our house, his arms extended,

My mother was born in a country
whose name I can’t pronounce.

The people with minds
        will speak their minds,

flying into the air
exhilarated and
scared shitless

Jill tells me about the
show she is making

I wonder if anything really needs to be revived.
Mad magazine should probably be dead by 1984
rather than: $2.50 CHEAP. It’s difficult

I read
a book &
then I want
to read
another
one about
Russia