Saturday, August 31, 2019


the magenta green nature of the ice
on the smooth slick pond
belied the true nature of
what was being covered up:
the body that floated beneath
in a kind of cold-induced lullaby:
naked, male, young, pink.
it was shocking, really,
the calm tranquility of his
expression under that smooth
slick ice. when he opened
up his eyes and pushed his
fist through the covering,
shattering it, banishing
the tranquility, and climbed
out onto the surface shivering
and shaking like a big blonde
dog, easily 6 feet from
top of head to sole of foot,
it was apparent
that the approval level
of the audience went way up,
and the geiger counter readings
shot through the roof. after
all that, the triumph
of the naked, the ascension of the young
and the eerily sexily beautiful --
it's what they all wanted, really,
deep down inside their dark little
barely-beating hearts.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Gorilla Architecture, published by Interior Noise Press in 2011.)

Friday, August 30, 2019

the dignity of cloth napkins

the sexy naked big-dicked boys are
out roaming the forests. their eyes are
praeternaturally bright and their teeth
are so white that they're dazzling.
the sexy naked big-dicked boys attack
wild animals and tear them into pieces and
swallow them raw. they are having the
time of their lives, these sexy naked
big-dicked boys, roaming around
wild and wild-eyed, taking what they want.
nothing can stop them.
after a successful day in which they
fell 3 deer and 2 wild pigs, as well as an elk, a moose,
and a mountain lion,
the sexy naked big-dicked boys
are lounging around beside a stream,
all of them masturbating
while they eat,
their big dicks hard
and throbbing and
periodically spurting out
big gooey plumes of hot runny cum.
then, after dining
and spurting cum,
a relatively peaceful mood hovers about the place,
and they settle down for conversation.
the sexy naked big-dicked boy who's
kinda in charge tonight -- they took a vote -- he also happens
to be the cutest guy there -- maybe effected the outcome
of the vote, maybe not -- anyhow, this guy gets to 
select the topic for this evening's
discussion.  when he announces it is "the history
of bipolar disorder and its treatment," at first
everyone has a real good chuckle, until they
realize he's goddamn serious.
then, out come the textbooks,
and it's right down to business.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem first appeared in The Commonline Journal, February 9, 2015.)

Assorted images from various places -- includes getting-fucked guy with great expressive face; Chris Pine

Assorted images from various places -- includes Dylan O'Brien, Tyler Posey, Rami Malek

Assorted images from various places -- includes 5-part mirror fuck; teeth.

Assorted images from various places -- includes Jared Leto, Poke Berry, David.

Begonias, Andrey Avinoff, circa 1946 (via
Still Life with Quinces, Vincent van Gogh, 1888 (via
Sculpture by Emil Alzamora (via

Kris Knight (via
Mark Rothko, Untitled, 1969  (via
Grapes with a Half Walnut, Jacob Foppens van Es, Date unknown. (via
Another blog of mine is this one at newTumbl--

But you won't be able to see everything on my newTumbl blog unless you have a newTumbl account of your own. In general, you'll only be able to see the "G-rated" stuff, and not any of the "X-rated" stuff on my newTumbl blog, if don't have your own newTumbl account.

Thursday, August 29, 2019


he just turned 41 years old today, and
he found a message stuck between his
storm door and his back door.
this is what the message said.
yes, i know that you are a sexy guy, and
i know that you know that i'm a sexy guy, too.
when i stand naked masturbating in
front of my uncovered window at
night, i know that you watch me.
yep, i'm good-looking, 23 yrs old,
blond, with great skin, and i'm
just a sexual machine in terms
of that's pretty much all i think
about. sex, i mean. you're
what? 45? 50?  i know
that's older than me, and
some folks would say that's
too old, but jeez
i think you're hot.
if you want to do something
about all this, take this
note, turn it over, write
something nice on it,
and put it between
my own storm door and
my own back door, ok?
looking forward to
so.  the ducks that
live in this neighborhood
walked around in the 41-yr-old's yard
and left eggs on his grass.
eggs. just kinda scattered 'em
around. the 41-yr-old saw 'em do it.
those ducks laid eggs on his lawn,
and in no particular pattern.
it's one of those days
when no matter what choices
a guy makes, his ears burn,
and his teeth taste funny.
it's a good note, though.
duck eggs--do you scramble
them, or what? and aren't
the yolks really REALLY orange,
instead of the more
chicken-traditional yellow?
sunsets increase in magnitude
until they're practically
fireballs, waiting to
eat the universe.
well. maybe
or twice.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem first appeared in Thieves Jargon, March 19, 2009.)
Cute naked guy -- whoever this guy is, he reminds me of Rupert Grint in this photo.

Otto Dix, Self-Portrait (via

Art by Theo Blaze

when it works

the music was loud and thrumming as the
two sexy naked young men sucked each other off.
each sexy naked young man writhed and contorted himself
with pleasurable ecstasy
and displayed tight sinewy muscle and hard thick dick
as he got sucked off by the
other sexy naked young man.
then, tangled all up together, their mouths fresh
with each other's semen,
they lay among the twisted and sweaty sheets and listened
as the loud music dwindled to sputter, and
then stopped.
"wanna pick another cd?" asked one of
the sexy naked young men.
"nah," said the other sexy naked young man,
"let's just lie here in the silence and
smell each other's armpits."
then both sexy naked young men began to giggle.
then they started laughing.
then they were laughing really really loud.
"i love you man," said one sexy naked young man.
"and i love you, too," said the other sexy
naked man.
and then they really did: lie there, smelling
each other's armpits, pushing their
noses in deep among the sweaty
curly hair, each sexy naked
young man getting more and more
turned on by the moment,
until it was all they could do to keep
from crawling down each other's hot slimy throats.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Gorilla Architecture, published by Interior Noise Press in 2011. And the poem first appeared in FUCK!, Vol. 12, No. 11, November 2009.)

Tuesday, August 27, 2019

turn your head and cough twice

and on the night the wild bunny rabbit escaped from
its cage, and scampered off into the darkness,
the sexy teenage boy who thought he owned that
bunny was lying sweating and naked on his
back, masturbating for the 4th time that
evening. he'd determined, from past experience,
that the 4th time always felt the best,
slow to reach orgasm, lots of time
for gently stroking and massaging his
big smooth dick, and, when the orgasm
hit, it always hit big-time. oh yeppers,
that 4th time was definitely the charm.
when the sexy teenage boy
got out of bed the next morning
and found out that his wild bunny rabbit
had escaped from its cage,
he was sad, and angry at himself,
for not having built a better cage.
he'd been meaning to build a more-secure
cage for several days now, but, well,
he just hadn't done it, had he?
the day passed quietly.
that night, while the sexy teenage boy
lay naked and sweaty on his back,
all the covers thrown off,
again masturbating as though there
were no tomorrow,
the wild bunny rabbit that had
escaped from its cage
was munching clover, wild clover,
the kind with lots of fluffy white
blossoms. the blossoms were
the part that the bunny liked
the best, and that was the
part upon which the bunny
gorged tonight, in the
big distant meadow,
while the sexy teenage boy jerked
off alone in that big sweaty bed.
when the boy came, and spattered
his taut naked belly with hot cum,
he muttered something under his
breath about "that damn rabbit,"
and, then, he wiped himself off, and
everything was as peaceful
as the distant moon that
glowed slightly orange -- for
the time was now so very
close to the arrival of autumn,
and, with it, all those big
ripe delirious pumpkins.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem first appeared in Chiron Review, Issue 92, Autumn 2010.)
by the sea
San Francisco