To be nothing and not to have much, I bought a kite of shredded delirium. 

And I brought that to taste the density of seagulls. 

Between blue carpets and liquid valiums. 

But they were their fucking obscurity from black voids. 

No blades, no flapping disturbances…my kite was sailing above their saltwater wings. 

But I needed to be shown the suction of this motherless soil. 

I headed back towards that dying pub where I was laughed for my broken bones from arm wrestling.

I got my elusive bubble there.