They all agreed. A kite was he

-lter-skelter, was hedonistic, a blunderbuss, thats what you need, they all agreed.

Northern summer light

air, cliffs, common yearning, and a piece of string to hold onto

When all else fails. a file; some nails; a nail-file; a turnstile; a man. For all seasons.

Really? A kite was flying above the beach on Gaza

A guest of a few days

knew about dowelling and brown paper

knew about the secret life of string

and labyrinths

that theory of multiple dimensions

the right time and place to let go of the thread

did string theory put to test for brains connected

each brain in flight in this vast ever expanding spacetime

Moving out beyond the border guards of the night time theme parks.

Nestling our heads in the armpits of cacti, we

hold the heartbeat of the gila monster, know we could murder over the 	border

          for raw tequila and a Mexican named Sheena

if over the border they hadn’t murdered her first, on their way to our markets

          and their fortunes

where they would fondle our caricatures like blank slates in the evening heavy

And when the vision ended, when he stopped flying, his stillness held virtue and menace,

          both afraid of which would rule the sand-lit sky

icypole sticks and clag and parts of a cardboard box

          a soggy spine

          there was no sticky tape left

there’s one for the Kite Orphanage, I said

placing green feathers, plus some milk money in my handbag