Crumbled faces
left to sentry walls
with wine bottles
and tears that smear the paint
on their cheeks
dancing jigs and drop to
the dirty ground
crying wet and muddy
“How many of you are there?”
asks a man newly arrived.
they squander, they meander,
but mostly they forget
happiness. Crumbled faces
look out the windows
at us, at the world through
tears and wine bottles
so everything looks like
…take your pick…