It hardly seems this next appearance can come even close to what came before, in all hallowed editions. Psychedelic zen? A Stanford bus safari? Further back in tomes of literary cadence which bared tea stained teeth, trying to reconcile something poetic, and illustrations that assume centuries of engravers, sketchers, painters and photographers, it all started with kids wiggling their toes in warm dust. And even if that overflight of thundering military transport planes heading for Moffett Field did not interfere, even if there's no vanishing point, there needs to be some perspective. There's no way to point to something invisible that had moving parts once.

No doubt this is uncomfortable. Unlike salt and pepper shakers on the windowsill that can be taken down to season stew, it's more akin to spooning potatoes and carrots only to find them trailing macaroni galaxies. Handling with gloves might be a good thing.

Joy comes to mind. Then quickly disappears behind the military transport.

It leaves behind a jumble of overturned milk stools (fire!), and sitting beside one may calibrate an absence of disagreement. Truly! A new paradise that does not need bubble gum because, if no terms apply, how can one oppose another? Politician s hate this.

In former times, I might have gotten worked up.

It's an empty pleasure now, realizing just the flip side. Rather (are we hanging on for dear life here, waiting for the other shoe?) it's void.

Yeah, there it goes. Out of sight, over the horizon. Carrying what in the cargo hold? But when speaking through tin foil, a bit of shininess is bound to stick. Though there is a certain pleasure in juggling these things. Imagine riding Western, one hand gripping the saddle horn, the other twirling a lariat. Cattle screaming in psychic retreat.

But that would be an exaggeration. There are placid beings who won't read an ad big enough for the side of a barn, or maybe a Quaker Oats ad, and will just crunch on, oblivious.

I'm a fan of retrodundancy. Call it looping back. If at first you don't understand, that's good. The game of Dominoes wasn't conceived in a creek. Black and white Go stones were, and not just in a day. Replay the game, it won't come out the same. Never does.

There's a statue in the park that mumbles to itself in the dark. But you won't prove it if you don't listen.

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