Hotel Yesterday vs Hotel Today
They had knock-knock sex
And took turns screaming
Who goes there?!
While I sat in the next room shaking
Listening as they fucked away madness
On the other side of the wall
Their grunts making oatmeal out of the drywall
Rubbing my face and everything else that wasn’t my crotch
In the electability issues that refused to disperse my long un-lost
Grass roots distrust of love/celibacy kick cloud
I heard it go in
And I heard it go out and then
I heard it stay out for an extra second or two
Until it went in again and then stayed in again
And stayed in
Blindfolded by the firing squad reminders
Of when all that in-and-outing
Used to include a present tense versions of me and you
I clutched my face in my hand
As if my face were what’s left of the memory
Of your right breast
And then upon realizing what I was just doing
I screamed bullshit and drank whiskey
Like a left boob stumbling into a demolished bra shop
On an abandoned mall kind of day
Listening to the sounds of what used to be us
In the motel room right next to me
I was living beside our own past
And our past was loud
And punctuated by a movie popcorn machine of
Abundantly buttered orgasms
In those long gone days
We used to be so goddamn loud
That it was pissing me off
I tried to watch TV to take my mind off tonight’s neighbors
The news was a stockpile of horrible actions
Which involved Trump arrogantly first-dating America
Jumping dryly from “Hi my name is Donald and my daddy gave me money”
Straight into the executive order in which he’s attempting
To perform anal without the proper permits again
So I flipped over to the re-run channels
Spooky eye humping Scully
Scully eye humping Mulder
Followed by a couple episodes of Star Trek where
Picard’s chest hair goes on a starship date with Dr. Crusher and
Even Lt Commander Data was getting laid
Flip the channel again
And everything comes crashing back down to Earth
Trump’s epically overestimating his crowd size again
Applause shaped like hemorrhoids
Crowds as far as the curtains can see
In the next room our past
Had just mutilated the headboard again
And it sounds as if an end table has joined in
They were us, and we were having knock-knock sex
Taking turns screaming Who goes there?!
While I was stuck in the adjoining room
Drinking whiskey on Brautigan’s birthday
The whole place surrounded by executive orders.
post-apocalypse sex, and fast food hypocrisy
Losing my mind until I thought about jerking off
But my hand said not tonight love, because its knuckles
Had a headache and insisted on half assedly
Finishing this poem
Multiverse Johnson 