let's go for a hike

wolfsbane the dog dregs for calm.
when the flowers bloom in springtime,
savor the situation, but not the ethics.
apart from the sanctity of human
dimensionality, there is always
the nature of precuspial pubescence,
the milk-watery dreams of
sexy naked big-dicked teenage boys,
their big smooth sturdy dicks firing
off volleys of cum like
firecrackers, but without
that much noise.
**
i was once in love with
my college roommate,
a sweet sexy member of the
college swimteam.
whenever he asked me
to go hiking with him,
my heart nearly stopped,
my dick got hard,
and
my eyes glazed "yes yes
YES!"
i didn't know i was gay
then. i'm assuming
he was straight.
he was sure beautiful,
though. the sight of
him naked in the
shower,
well,
the tip of his
dick,
so deliciously subtly
plum,
the twinkle in his
blue eyes,
the heart of the nation,
the
goal of loneliness quelchers
everywhere,
the taste of alcohol
not on his breath
and, back then,
never on mine.
**
these days, i like
alcohol quite a lot.
not that it fixes
everything.
not that that's what
i expect,
but,
hope springs eternal,
like
springtime flowers,
spewing their pollen,
as
sexy naked big-dicked teenage boys
look at photos of each other
and
spew their cum, too.
**
hip hip hurray.
the end of the world
is just a daydream
in the peatmoss
of bunnies,
nibbling their clovers,
as the sunshine turns
pretty much
everything a ghostly
shade of white.
**
nightfall. and
then,
the turtles
begin their
slow delirious fuck,
their eyes
shooting sparks
of
prehistorical
carthage, right
before the last of us
gives up his dreams.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014.)