creosote pineapple

let us go
into the realm
of elevated emotional states, and quickened heartbeat,
and big thick erections that occur so often,
they are practically every quarter hour.
**
its quick jounces and its apparent pulsating urgency.
**
let us go into his bedroom, where,
sometimes, after a
nap, and all alone,
in front of his own bedroom mirror,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
alters the flow of blood
to his heart,
and re-arranges his position so that
his dick points off more toward
one side, than toward the middle.
**
just a swivel of the
hips, really,
one buttock a little more
relaxed, than
tense.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book String Bean, published by BareBackPress in 2018.)

nipple

Kevin Zegers

Saline, a book of poems by me, Carl Miller Daniels. Saline was published by Interior Noise Press in 2014, and is currently for sale at Amazon.

bubbles

when my ship set sail into the wilderness
of mysterious fishes and odd critters of the saline nation,
hardly anyone would talk to me.
i was too eager. too ready to show off my
keen biological knowledge and insightful
ways of observing fascinating zoological marine phenomena.
the other summer interns, were
much more relaxed about their job.
it was, for them, just a summer job,
not the best, not the worst,
and kind of an opportunity for
them to hang out with each
other and enjoy after-hours beer
and cards and talk.  i didn't
even drink back then. thought
it would be bad for me. also, i
was just kind of a naive goody-two-shoes.
i was just 19, an eager-beaver college sophomore,
deliriously happy with having a real
job in my chosen field: biology.
wow. and MARINE biology at
that. specialization!
wow! i thought this was all pretty dern great.
out on the water on a marine biology
research ship, watching
the giant net slide under the
surface of the water,
knowing it was gliding and banging along
the bottom, and watching
its contents get dumped onto
the sorting table: hundreds
of fish, sometimes thousands,
all different shapes, sizes,
and colors. and pretty soon
i knew the names of all of them,
common name, scientific name,
family, and genus, and species.
oddly enough, my growing knowledge
and quick mastery of fish identification skills
did not endear me to the other
summer interns. in their eyes,
i was even more "geeky," more
of a "hotdog," a downright
"nerd."
ah well, i was having fun
anyway,
and later, when i did get
a bit more relaxed, and
was having an actual
laid-back conversation with
the chief scientist on the
ship, a tall skinny 30ish
guy with a sexy demeanor and
sweet sad eyes,
just him and me talking,
mostly about science stuff,
measuring this, identifying
that. there was
nobody else around.
he drank beer after beer.
we talked some more, and, then,
all of a sudden,
he told me something that surprised
me, something that i've always
remembered. this is what he said.
he said, "there are really only two
things i like about being alive,"
he said, as he sucked on a
can of beer.
"just two things i like:
being drunk. and
being asleep. when i'm not
drunk, i want to be
asleep. when i'm not
asleep, i want to be
drunk.
those are really the only
two things i can stand
about being alive."
there was a moment
of awkward silence.
it was
late, nearly midnight,
the surface of the
sea slick
and cold
and
black.

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

golly stop sign sigh golly gee

i sit in my car at the stop sign
in disbelief: the entire
boys track team is running by
en masse, all of them
shirtless, all of them
in tiny little flimsy paper-silk
shorts, they are sweating,
glistening, tiny nipples,
taut lean bellies,
slender muscled legs
they glide by
my stopped car,
and then they are
gone, i look in the
rear view mirror
whimpering as i drive
away from the stop-signed
intersection,
they are clomping on toward
showers, steam, communal nakedness,
big cocks hanging soaped
frothy
wet
it is autumn
a sunny day with red and yellow
leaves everywhere,
the pavement is strewn with
them
strewn i tell you
strewn

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my chapbook Shy Boys at Home, published by Chiron Review Press in 1999.)