midnight ball

the clock stuck
on itself
big ego at 11
small phallus at 12

the moon shows
just a sliver
one more stupid joke
and the light
will disappear entirely

my insides
neither peristaltic
nor vibrating any of
the subtle, vital hum
of life

the speed of nausea
a traffic jam of one
cursing
middle finger
blood boiling
at the bottom
of my throat

I want movement
need relief
plead for an act of grace
for a moment
to show my true
face