Two poems


oh.

and just where DID those ancient Greeks get
their ideas about the desirability of
male-on-male butt fucking?
was it a companionship kind of a thing?
a dominance-submission kind of thing?
or just a pure sex thing--if it feels
good, do it. that sort of reasoning.
or perhaps there was no reasoning
involved at all--just going on pure
hot emotion and sexual frenzy. that's
all it took--two big beefy soldiers
out standing watch all alone, hot,
horny, needing to stay awake--why
not just a sturdy butt-fuck to help
pass the night? why not do it slick
and utterly silently, no moans, no
groans, eyes open and scanning
for any sort of danger, as they
slowly slip it to each other out
there on the outskirts of the
encampment?  in the morning,
there's no comment made about
the smiles on their faces,
the ruddy glow of their cheeks,
the sparkle in their eyes--
those who are observant
have seen these signs before,
exhibited many of these signs themselves
as a matter of fact, and more
than once--now re
the actual inception of
male-on-male butt fucking--
who was the very first to
suggest sticking it THERE?
"you wanna stick it WHERE?"
one of them may have said. or
perhaps, no words were uttered.
perhaps they just
perceived the possible & went
with it. complex is history.
certain the vagueries of
the pink & lonely flesh.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem first appeared in Zygote in My Coffee, in January 2008.)  

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

good B.J. (conceptually speaking)

i like controversial art, but
i hate controversy.
i have written stuff
on bathroom walls, and i like
to read stuff that others have written
on bathroom walls.
i like seeing outrageous stuff
put on a wall, or on paper,
or made into a 3-dimensional work
of art,
or spread across a computer screen.
but i don't want to stand face-to-face
against somebody and scream
my words at them while they
disagree with what i say.
i don't want to see
the whites of their eyes,
i don't want to be able
to focus first-hand on
the pinks of their tongues.
i'd rather they read what
i have written, read
it while hundreds of
miles away from me,
and keep that distance.
does this make me
cowardly (probably), or
is it just a way for
me to maintain
my artistic objectivity?
(whatever that is.)
geee, i like controversial art,
but i hate controversy.
you know, i would never kill a pig
myself,
but i sure love to eat pork.
there's dirty work,
and then there's DIRTY work.
i love to read about two
cute teenage boys fucking each
other up the ass,
i love to see images of two
cute teenage boys fucking
each other up the ass,
but do i want to defend
that kind of art
face-to-face
to those who hate
it and who are offended
by it?
no.
but it's fun to
imagine the offended smoldering,
and sweating,
and getting their hackles up.
it's fun to have fun.
and tougher to explain why
fun IS fun.
knowing that people
look at art and
get mad
because of what they are
seeing,
is fun for me.
having somebody standing
in my face, yelling,
um,
not so much.
some acorns grow into great big oak
trees, but most of those
acorns just rot,
or get eaten by squirrels,
before anything can happen.
all those hot sexy teenage boys
spurting all that hot gooey cum,
most of it never seen,
most of it just
goes quietly down
a bathtub drain,
never bothers a soul,
not even
a bird gets to see it
go.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book String Bean, published by BareBackPress in March 2018. The poem first appeared in Chiron Review, Issue #96, Autumn 2011.)