Tongue splatter

Bubbles are a constant obsession here,
from trying to blow the fuzz from my tiny wrinkled
palm in the bath
to the stamping of perfectly rounded spheres
on an airport floor
Always a staggered and crashing flight these ephemereal globes
of airy non substantial beauty and fascination
All those dreams pierced by blades of grass
in fields where the sky preys hauntingly and the soil
swallows whole, where do I put the precious bad ideas lurking
claustrophobic in cobwebby neurons, heroic in their attempt to splatter
on my tongue?
Some questions are better left dead