really-big-dick poem

bird-boy dreamed of flight.
at night, asleep, bird-boy's dreams
were of gliding over hills and
tree-tops, his arms spread wide,
his feet stretched out behind him.
his favorite dreams involved
flying over the college campus
in the town where he lived,
and all the students would
look up and see him and
be awe-struck and amazed,
and they would admire
him and be astonished by
him. sometimes,
though, as the dream went
on, bird-boy would lose
elevation, and would begin flying
dangerously close to the ground,
and those students on the
ground who were curious or
hostile or just plain mean-spirited
would reach up and try to
grab at his clothes, and
thus drag him to the
ground, where he would
then be trapped.
mostly, though,
in his dreams, bird-boy
went right on sailing
well up above the
crowd, well out of
their reach, and
was subjected only
to sighs of wonderment
and admiration.  sometimes,
though, in his least-favorite
dreams, bird-boy dreamed
that he flew way too high,
miles above the ground,
it seemed, and he
was terrified of
being that high, and,
as he guided himself back toward
the ground, his speed picked
up, and he seemed to be
in danger of slamming
into the ground.  mostly,
he woke up before that
happened, but sometimes,
in his dream,
he did hit the ground, and
with unpleasant force, too,
but he was always ok,
always got up and walked
away. his days:
rote, routine, flaccid
bits of debris.  his
nights: flight, escape,
wonderment, fear of
flying too high,
fear of flying too
low, everything else,
though, pretty much
all right.
**
then there were
the dark-flight dreams;
where all his flight
was by night, in
near pitch-darkness. in
these dark dreams, he
was fond of landing
on a nice big branch
in the middle of
a big black leafy tree,
and waiting, watching
those below -- he
was usually naked
in these kinds of
dreams, and with a
big throbbing hardon.
it was fun sitting
on a branch, naked,
masturbating, hidden in
a tree in the middle
of the night; mostly,
when he was done,
he leapt off
the branch, and
flew over darkened
houses and apartments,
still naked, but
near wispy like fog,
yet, substantial,
like chilly flesh.
sometimes, though,
after masturbating in
the tree, he would
just sit there, and,
uncertain of what to
do next, he would
sit there as if
he were becoming part of
the tree bark, as if he
were disappearing into
the substance of
the cold black tree itself.
**
after these dark dreams,
he usually woke up with
cum all over his belly.
**
he liked the
dreams of day-light flight the
best, though, and
the others, the
dreams of flying
at night, of perching
in a tree,
masturbating naked &
spying on those below,
these dreams
were rare, but troubling,
like misshapen pieces
of candy corn, the
ones you throw out
after foraging through
the bag -- all
those orange colors,
but still, no caramel.

--Carl Miller Daniels (2009)