that hang by a thread and
whistle. They punch through
the ceiling and swim in the sky,
spraying the clouds with red

dye. Looked on as losers
and frivolous folk they use
their reverie to poke holes in
the sidewalk till it sprouts beans

and Christmas trees with lavender,
the kind that makes those mortal men
slur. Be drunk on innocence of
a star that fell from above.