The Station Master

 In the night, there is a station.

And a cab

That takes you straight from the indulgent morning

To the lonesome night, yet

All hypotheses break free once you pour another glass,

And want to be free.

I heard the whistle at a distance,

And an ambulance, mourning the past

And a future that could be yours.

But guilt is broken glass:

It has taint, stains, honks.

A cabin of an insomniac station master.

26 August, 2026