Two poems 



DNA

the smell of burning candle wax greeted his nostrils
as he walked into the old house, gently festooned
with holly wreathes and lit candles everywhere
he looked. he had been invited for a gathering
of friends. the owners of the house knew
he didn't get out much. the other guests
knew he didn't get out much. they liked him
anyway, because he was attractive, quiet,
and harmless. he never said anything
aggressive, offensive, or even the
slightest bit annoying. plus, he
was just so darn cute, sweet, good-looking,
and well, let's just say it: he was
sexy as heck, and nobody at all understood
his affinity for being alone so much, and
for politely shrugging off most advances
of friendship, socializing, or sexual adventure.
tonite, though, the hosts were pleased
when he walked into their home, as were
the other guests. he stood there
nervously smelling the burning candle wax;
it smelled good. he stood there
nevously looking at the holly wreathes,
which seemed to be literally everywhere.
oh it seemed like a very festive occasion, indeed;
and he chatted and made the smallest talk possible,
everyone looked him over, and he felt he
was being assessed for possible conquest.
he knew he was physically attractive. he
knew he inspired lustful sexual thoughts in those
around him.  he stayed a while, had some
punch, cookies, endured some more small
talk.  then he politely thanked his
hosts, and went out to his car.
he opened the door, climbed into his car,
and started it up.  and then he
drove home, to the little one-bedroom apartment
where he lived alone. he'd painted
the walls with dabs of his own blood, and
blotches of his own cum spotted everything.
he took off all his clothes and ate
a can of tuna fish.  then he went into
the bathroom and stuck a
q-tip way up his nose, until it bled.
he smeared some of the blood around
on the walls, and waited for his nose
to stop bleeding. then he
walked into his bedroom and jerked
off into a corner. he watched
his cum dribble down the seam
where the two walls met.  then, once
more, he gave up and went to sleep.
his dreams were always so pretty, mostly
flowers and cotton candy, and pink, so pink,
always extremely, warmly, pink.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem "DNA" also appears in my book Gorilla Architecture, published by Interior Noise Press in 2011. And "DNA" was first published in My Favorite Bullet, Vol. 9, Issue 1, July 2009.)

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different

squid ink on the tabletops.
squid ink on the sheets.
squid ink on the showerroom walls.
yes, for some reason unknown to medical science,
the sexy big-dicked teenage boy
spurted cum that looked like squid ink.
black and oily.
even just a tiny bit gritty.
embarrassed, the sexy big-dicked teenage boy
had gone to the doctor for examination.
after several tests,
the doctor had declared both
the sexy big-dicked teenage boy
and the sexy big-dicked teenage boy's
cum
"normal." "with just an atypical pigmentation."
"nothing to worry about."
still, though,
the sexy big-dicked teenage boy felt odd,
and strange.
he knew from pictures in dirty books,
and from pictures on computer screens,
and from the testaments of his friends,
that human male cum
was just not supposed to look like squid ink.
one afternoon, jerking off with
several of his cute male friends,
everyone just kept talking about
that "squid-ink" cum of his.
comparisons to each other's
cum were inevitable.
his was the only cum that looked like that.
there were smirks and chuckles.
at night,
the sexy big-dicked teenage boy
often dreamed of life underneath
the sea. in his dreams,
far below the ocean waves,
he sprouted tentacles, and,
when danger threatened, he
hid himself in clouds of squid-ink cum.
in the morning,
his sheets looked like a Jackson Pollock
painting,
or a Motherwell oil,
free and wild and uninhibited--exactly the
same emotions that
he wished
he felt, but didn't.
squid ink on the tabletops.
squid ink on the sheets.
squid ink on the showerroom walls.
it was all just kind of creepy.

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