Christopher Hopkins writes

Redeye silver line

Roads of the tears, 

taper to nothing from the city

of eyes.

The redeye silver line on its way,
down the gypsum straits
until the salt taste is remembered.

And the heartache makes a home in you.

You don't speak for me
and I don't speak for you.
I can't wear the done as a suit
of fashion or steel,
and neither do you. 

I don't have the spirit to box,
for a nothing that can be won.
So I'm back on tracks I've walked before.
A road that flakes to dust on the tread,
for the first ten thousand miles or more.

To be called by others,
which that is true,

I was once loved by you.

Stag at Sharkey's --George Bellows