Two poems



slower, yes, much more slowly than that

i thought nothing of squirrel's breath coming out of
my ears as i stood
naked in the dark in the hallway outside
the bedroom of my sexy college roommate,
him a swimmer on the swimteam, sexy guy,
i was wild about him, delirious nearly,
me just a skinny blond guy majoring
in biology and minoring in english,
him majoring in electrical engineering
and understanding that manly discipline,
such a sweet hot guy, with such
a sweet hot body, and on the
college swimteam to boot!, how
i stood it standing there
outside his bedroom door,
me naked, it is dark,
i'm pretty sure he's not
asleep yet, i think
thoughts about crawling
into bed with him, but
i'm sure he's straight,
and i'm not actually
sure yet i'm gay, but
as i stand naked there
in the dark outside
his bedroom, everything
is real dark and real
quiet and the squirrel's
breath coming out of my
ears is making a slow
hissing sound, torrid,
lost,
stranded.

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

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degree

out of the slurry of the coal fire, strides
the hottest boy you could ever imagine.
he looks to be about 18 years old,
but who knows? maybe
he's really 500 years old, or 5000 years
old. who can tell? but he strode right
out of that fire,
naked, sexy-looking as all get-out,
hair on fire, his eyes shy,
and yet eager, too.
try to touch him, though,
and your hand gets
burned. try to kiss him,
and you'll pull back
before you feel the sizzle.
he's naked all the time.
no need to try
to put clothes on him, though,
they'd just catch
fire and burn off anyway.
he likes to sit in the
local coffee shop, and,
if anybody's coffee
gets cold, he just
grabs ahold of the cup
for a couple seconds, and
that heats it right back up.
he seems to appreciate
the "thank-you's" that
he receives. they seem
heart-felt, and genuine.
he likes that, being
appreciated for something
he can do rather than
for what he looks like, as
he sits at the corner
booth, the one with
the metal chairs,
their sharp little
feet melting the
wax on the
cold slick floor.

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