Dancing With No-One

Sit like a skeleton on the night train.
Cold as bare bones and stiffer still.
Draught nibbling at an exposed knee-cap,
Chill eating through a thin Mac.
We sit like this. Apathetic as corpses,
Pinned to the arm-rests, or else
Staring through the window to nothing, nothing
Save for the occasional electric star,
There are no real stars, only
Dead eyes on the soul-fixing glass,
Looking back at out own pale faces,
Expressionless, mere traces made by the dark.