Carl Miller Daniels

the security of my thoughts has been
violated when i spill them onto
this computer screen.
the security of my feelings has
been tampered with when
i express them verbally onto this
softly glowing screen.
all the little glowing dots
of blended light obey me
and display my words just as
i type them, misspellings and
all, which i can fix
easily, at the end, or
during, depending on
when i catch them.
when i dream of beautiful
big-dicked naked young men
standing there spurting their
cum into the wind, i can
write about what i have
dreamed. when i dream
of life calm and tranquil
and gently whiskey-hazy,
i can write about that dream,
too. and when i think
of naked big-dicked sexy
young men huddled alone
in their dim-lit rooms,
watching their dicks expand
to full-on-size and
details that need to
be examined.
feelings that need to be
elaborated upon.
words that need
to be clicked and clacked
onto the white gentle glow
of creeping technology.
violations of the secrets of
the sacred flesh have become
routine. enthusiasm for
the carnal,
remains at its previous and
primitive level
of interest, which
is, er, rather high.
think of
naked men painting
scenes of fucking
on pompeiian walls
before the apocalypse,
dramatic proof.
remember with
affection acts of
lust & the need
to artistically
express them.
thank goodness for thick
plaster, and for good strong

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