Five poems that appeared in Chiron Review, Issue 92, Autumn 2010


restful restlessness

when the gruel trickled down his throat,
he thought of second-semester spanish,
and the fruit flies that hovered over
his bananas. tall and lanky, with
a nice face, and a big smooth dick,
he wasn't really a fan of gruel,
but, the old-fashioned nature
of the word appealed to him, as
the stuff slowly trickled down
his throat, and the terror
of second-semester spanish
splashed around inside his
brain, and the fruit flies
hovered over the sanctity
of his perfectly ripe bananas.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem appeared in Chiron Review, Issue 92, Autumn 2010.)




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.)



now, please.

clamp it shut before it bleeds out.
plug it up before it leaks out.
hold it in.
don't let it flow.
don't cum.
don't shit.
don't piss.
don't dribble.
don't drool.
keep that stuff right where it is.
don't vomit. that's right, swallow.
hold that stuff in!
**
sexy stream-lined naked little pete
squatted on his sexy
sinewy haunches in the sunny woods,
doing all of the following:
shitting, pissing, spurting cum,
drooling, sneezing, and sweating. then,
sexy stream-lined naked little pete
rammed his index finger down
his throat, and vomited.
then,
sexy stream-lined naked little pete
cut the
back of his hand
with a sharp rock,
and bled.
when he
stopped bleeding,
he smiled,
stood up,
farted,
and walked
cheerfully away.
**
so there.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem appeared in Chiron Review, Issue 92, Autumn 2010.)





growth rings

when it came to botany and
the gentle sexy big-dicked boy,
pear-shaped poinsettias perplexed him,
the nature of their curves,
the soft protuberance of their tips.
christmas and pear-shaped poinsettias
just didn't seem to go together.
who'd invented this mutant poinsettia
anyway? and why had it caught on?
**
opening his presents,
the gentle sexy big-dicked boy
discovered a big bag of marshmallows,
and reverted to his primal state
of howling tumescence;
his dick wasn't exactly
leaking cum, but it wasn't
really spurting out, either.
just a sort of spotty discharge.
**
poinsettia sap is milky white,
and poisonous. if you get it
in a cut, the cut will
burn. so try not to
break either poinsettia leaves
or flowers, because their white
sap will leak out and
potentially hurt you, especially
if you've got a cut or scrape.
don't rub it in your eyes, either.
jeeez, show some common sense.
**
the gentle sexy big-dicked boy
enjoyed the texture of the
marshmallows, as he chewed
whole-heartedly and endorsed
the smear of sugar on his
big pink tongue. the cat
knocked over the
pear-shaped poinsettia and
spilled it, and the soil,
onto the floor.
clean-up was slow and
laborious, but,
at least by the end of
the job, that
damn poinsettia was out
of the house.
**
roasting marshmallows at
the fireplace is a family
pasttime that will long
be remembered. just ask
the gentle sexy big-dicked boy,
and he'll tell you
it was just like a dream.
a bright slimy one,
with red droopy flowers.
**
when
the gentle sexy big-dicked boy
grew up,
his own children
played wild in the forest,
and everything they brought home to him,
was a gift from the
heart.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem first appeared in Chiron Review, Issue 92, Autumn 2010.)




then get out of the kitchen

the boy with the plutonium dick
has eyes of fire,
dreams of 4th of july,
believes in total sexual conquest.
he wants slaves.
lots of them.
**
all alone in
his room, its walls
covered with aluminum foil,
the boy with the plutonium dick
practices his aim,
perfects trajectory masturbation and
spatters the paper target
bullseye with his own
cum. he's got a good
aim. the center of
the target bursts into
flame, then evaporates,
when his cum hits it.
this always
makes him chuckle.
**
the boy with the plutonium dick
fucks his best friend paul
right up the ass.
paul likes the heat.
and can take it.
paul's very good-looking.
and paul's got a great ass,
in spite of the burnmarks.
**
the boy with the plutonium dick
kisses paul tenderly after
he fucks paul, and then
the boy with the plutonium dick
sucks paul off, as paul
whimpers with
sexual ecstasy, there
on the muddy leaf-strewn ground,
for they like to do
it in the woods,
and the occasional forest fire,
well, that's just too bad.


--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014. The poem first appeared in print in Chiron Review, Issue 92, Autumn 2010.)