I only have one request: Please ask the boys to “audition” in front of the two way mirror and read the phrase “All her nibbly bits. All of them.”

I will know which one is just right.

I’ll see them all at 5 o’clock, 6 if there is traffic.

Thanks!

S*kelly ’14

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.

Me?
I am beautiful Aubergine.
Thin skin and spongy flesh - spotless
Yet sophisticated with a plain taste
To drink down with your red wine
Or drizzle over with balsamic vinaigrette
Something sweet to the acidic to
kick you back
reel you in.
Make me flashy; Mix me in.
Wait for the ingredients to sink through my skin.
Do you like my flavor?

I am an Egg Plant
Rejected when Raw.

-S.Kelly Woz '13

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

Specifically*  

                     Those Who Can See Over Everest & Those Who Think They Climb It Daily

GIANTS, *BEWARE! The American People are not ready for you. They prefer stretching 4 year olds into fine angel hair and serving them up with a side of “Italian” meatballs. They do not classify your biologically natural state as a desirable beauty. For those who choose to assimilate: they dedicate an entire chapter to your mental status in a Psychology textbook.

DWARVES, BEWARE! Even the dolls are tall.


S.Kelly Woz '13

When day changed to sherbert
the taste of mango slipped across my tongue
and I caught stray licks
like wet snowflakes in the summer breeze.

For a moment
no hand could touch me with that
same love;
none have since.

My hobby of sunsets and sun
rise for 15 minutes of fame--
       for staring in wonder, then
                                 fading away.

skelly*14

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

As a form of fourth grade torture
Christina would manifest lies to
test my gullibility and prove her sick wit.
When insomnia started to plague me
she devised a theory and quoted an obscure  
scientific journal to flavorfully boost fake facts.

Imagine a jar of paint.
Imagine it spill on your head
and flow through the skull, veins, and organs
spreading down the body in slow
single-file motion.
The practicing therapist demands:
Begin with...

                                                                             Green
                                                            Light cast by the green sun
                                                has tap water turning into slime. Slime
                                           that plunges through pipes on its way from
                                                      lakes now made of lime jello.
                                                                               Sun.

                                               Trees and flowers start to grow naturally,
                                    experimenting with the flavors of the warm green rays.
                                               A base of hunter green, a splash of forest,
                                with a hint of mint and freshly squeezed honeydew rain --  
                                       Lighter and brighter the plants photosynthesize,
                                     breaking down the compound green into atom form
                                                 to find the protons, neutrons, electrons,
                                                                         quarks of it,
                                                      until they reached the end of green.
                                              Is it time to sink into the dark depths of
                                                 muddy green baseness down below
                                                Or time to breach the walls of science,
                                                                enter mythology
                                                                to create a new light
                                                                                and bloom into the Yellow Sun?
-Samantha Woznica '11

Why do you need a magazine
when one bullet locked to the core
has the power to cut electricity for an entire city?
Do you not trust your accuracy?
The integrity of man lies in its
ability to forge daggers out of words -- But any other weapon can and must rust,
Even oxygen knows that and speeds along the process.

The power of speech developed years before anyone could write the word
STOP
in protest of the word GO.
Yet only hisses slip from your metal tongue.

No one understands the cold machine of the iron age,
so where is the head that controls it --
Or is it just a hand?
a finger?
a cell where the mind believes it must confine
to surrender all its mental worth.

A blade of grass no longer has an edge,
but a blunt stump where the point should have climbed
higher before reaching the sky.

There is a feeling in all of Us,
A deep seated fear that questions if all is for naught.
So We stand at attention to salute the prospect of love in our community
Where hope must always remain
So that those kindred spirits can find a welcoming home in our millions
rather than fear every door locking down
with bulletproof walls and bolted doors for protection.
We try to call ourselves Free while We quake.

                                                               ­          *We Are All One
                                                             ­ And United We Must Stand

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.

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

the oxygen cut off
and you sipped red nectar of the gods hoping for a natural blush--

always organic in your choice of meats.  

*skelly14