Outgoing dialing prohibited

A bible simmers silent on the nightstand by the telephone
where the light dances on lean wall by murky mirror and
love laughs at muddy moments like this
with his twisted smile,
shrieks profound profanity at my buzzed brain
while my heart tangles,
twists, like his smirk, and through his
sideways teeth there comes a mumbled
memory.
I tumble, roll ridiculously into bed,
though the bible hums me quiet hymns,
that two-toned, taunting telephone
mocks my aching fucking face and
without reason, rhyme or firsthand rendering I
laugh languidly an air-sucking silly laugh about
god-gives-a-fuck which foul intrepid memory of my
useless youthful insolence. You can
call me, cringe at my violently crackled voice but,
ring, ring, ring till that red button lights like a lantern and
the judgment of Judas will not be mine.