Isolation kept me pure
                         in the paradise of innocence
until the pest came and brought the plague
                spread by connecting the gaps in my fingers with his.
I had adjusted to the cold long enough
                that the heat burned the skin

      right         between          my         knuckles.

He left with a lack of responsibility; I promised never to leave without my gloves again.

-S.Kelly Woz

Little Sheriff walks around these parts after school,
shooting invisible birds or bandits
with twin finger guns and magic bullets.

Little Sheriff talks like an old Western in his pre-pubescent voice,
even up in these here northern parts,
and tells passersby to stick their hands way up in the sky.

Little Sheriff wastes his enemies with four even shots to the chest
to restart their hearts and make them his friends.

                                                               ­                                                  Until Real man walked by one day,
                                                                ­        caught off guard and alarmed by cheek exploding gunfire,
                                                        ­                                      and sunk one real slug into the Sheriff’s brain.

S.Kelly Woz '12

There it is
sitting on the shelf
packed away in sacred cardboard,
only it has a more intoxicating effect.
The way the chemicals mingle
with hot heavy heat.
Potent yet powerless in its glass cage.

The lock breaks free with a slight
push
releasing invisible particles that
settle on your skin,
your bare neck,
leaving a hint of sweet acidic sugar.

I’m attracted to this
ephemeral concoction.

How it mixes with sweat:
So **** good
it makes me love,
and you love
like no other.
Our obsession amplified
with poisonous lust.

-S.Kelly Woz

Pretty brown **** smeared on the floor
Birthed an enigma of the unknown,
Crapped a lot of questions to go unanswered
Leaving me found dumb with no culprit in sight
But he left me his smell.

Oh and it smelled profusely
When the dog came in and with one lick
Wiped it up, his eyes full of ***** flavor
And I, repulsed, upchucked my meal,
Sat back and watched him eat that with pleasure too.

Could it be my life today?
And the next day till forever +
Or is this

it.

living, breeding
claiming its host = me?
Or is it just an i that hasn’t found the t
in me.
If it, the little ****, only knew how to spell it could see there is
no ‘i’ in me
and sneaks its way in mine.

This is my love, my it: heart stain on underwear.
Pit.