Outpost

No train ever stops here anymore This station is empty, The horizon, featureless: This is the dead end of the line, Nothing still here is living. Blankness has claimed all our heartbeats, Antagonism shut down our pulse. Every emotion coming too near has been commandeered, Wrung dry of warmth, moisture, expectation; The causeway is littered With faded letters and windblown ash. Even the night here trips over its own feet Trying to escape from its own darkness, As if there were someplace to be going- Because no hope will ever travel this far again.