Terminal mk. 93

I don’t want love I deceive love,
the very core of it, the part
like a half crushed grape
on a gray sidewalk.

I wish I didn’t talk

and sat here silently
on the torn up couch
the dogs rip out
the guts of almost
hopefully.

The daylight is enflamed
and so is every night
the stars look like
they’ve sipped on

too much mercury.

She drives a mercury home backward
and the stop signs bend
like dandelion stems
until we all can get back up again,
and wait here for the train to come

and get me.