Two poems -- both appeared in Chiron Review, Issue 95, Summer 2011



always look twice before crossing the street

even if i'm feeling really really bad,
i must write with a certain level of sanity.
otherwise, i might be misunderstood.
or not understood at all.
my words adrift like milkweed fluff, dandelion
seeds. even if i am feeling really really
insane, i must write as if i'm at least sane
enough to communicate. mustn't i?
**
first of all, i recommend that you
never write anything about writing.
i recommend that you don't write
poems about writing poems.
i recommend that you don't write
books about writing books.
just don't do any of
that stuff, okay? sheesh.
**
several days in a row, in the
locker room, while i am doing
sit-ups on the mat, there is
this incredibly sexy boy
who takes off his work-out
clothes and goes and takes a
shower and comes back to
his locker and gets dressed.
this all happens right across
from where i am doing sit-ups.
he's approximately 12 feet
away from me while he's
undressing. the shower
is far away, hundreds
of feet away, but then he
returns from the
shower and he finishes
toweling himself off and
he gets
dressed, and he is
wildly hugely sexy
with a big thick spectacular
dick.
**
i get a little crazy when
i see stuff like that,
but i'm so well behaved,
it almost makes me sick.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem appeared in Chiron Review, Issue #95, Summer 2011.)

============================

broom handle

my prayer robe is open,
and my dick is sticking out.
elsewhere in the house,
water is running,
and no doubt the bathtub will
soon overflow.
and yet,
my prayer robe is open,
and my dick is sticking out.
the wildfires that sweep
through the canyons
have charred thousands
of trees. small birds
are in flames.
little whispers of
change are on the lips
of the hopeful.
oh, heck yeah, my prayer robe is open,
and my dick is sticking out.
melodies on the
radio remind me of
torrid times in
the old dorm room,
just me and my roommate,
his face was so sweet,
his cock was so big.
now, my prayer robe is open,
and parted wide across
my naked chest.
the tip of my dick
is cold,
the room is drafty,
and the knowledge
that i'm about to
turn
59 years old
has already knocked my
socks off.
yep, naked
all over, bare toes,
too, just like
the old
neighborhood,
when i was 5 years old and
stepped
on honey bees and
regretted everything,
having no thoughts for
tomorrow; as i recall,
my only immediate
concern was
the pain.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem appeared in Chiron Review, Issue #95, Summer 2011. It also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014.)