*first in Humphrey

Originally "after Raquel Welch, the last living studio star" was the note, but I struck it because she crossed over right before publication of the magazine.

& This poem is about death and renewal, or maybe not at all, but that was on my brain when writing it.  Giving a backstage tour is strange for me because I can’t explain my self— which may be one reason I write poems to begin with.  However, I’m trying my best since I decided to do this, and the process of interrogating myself I suppose is good for me as it challenges me to think even more.  At the same time, it wears me down in a way I’m not sure I have the words for, because I seem to always be explaining myself, or and I’m not sure why.  I want to be understood, but I probably mislead people as much as I feel I am misled, and so if you have to squeeze it down, its open for interpretation. I don't know why I still disagree I'm being "abstract." There's a lot of shame in the piece.My brain questioned what relations hold permanence in this world.  The Muppet Show was filmed over forty years ago, but it lives on in my current reality and means the world to me.  My idol, Jimmy Dean, died in a car accident in 55’, but his life also had an effect on the way I view my self. Raquel Welch had a son named James, which was also the name of her first husband, who gave her the name Welch.  I just jimmy my self back. I guess that's the deal

& Raquel Welch gained her firs American mainstream notoriety in the film Fantastic Voyage, where she played the first female scientist to travel inside a body to repair damage inside the brain of man held up high in society. The brain confounds me, and I suppose this poem is really just trying to unravel the folds.  I never really knew my loves, Jimmy Dean or Jimmy Henson.  Images are not the reality of ideas.

& This is the 58th poem in the series and the factorial 58 appears in Fantastic Voyage.

& The number 60 also appeared, and the CBS show 60 Minutes visited The Muppet Show in an episode which aired on March 17th, which is the birthday of deceased Rudolf Nureyev, and my cats, Snap & Zipper, both of whom I have lost.