To celebrate the release of Sensitive Skin #12, the Poetry Month special, we had a reading at the Bowery Poetry Club in NYC. About half of the published poets were able to make it. It was a lot of fun, but if you weren’t there, here’s the next best thing. (Thanks to Hal Hirshorn for… Read more »
Poems by John S. Hall, Bonny Finberg, JD King, Emily XYZ, Marc Olmsted, Jack Micheline, Jose Padua, Michael Randall, Ron Kolm, Pete Simonelli, Sean Flaherty, Bob Holman, Hal Sirowitz, Sparrow, steve dalachinsky, Wanda Phipps, Eddie Woods, Max Blagg, Larissa Shmailo, Rob Hardin, Rebecca Weiner Tompkins, Ron Richardson, Carl Watson, John Farris, David Rattray, Norman Douglas, Sharon Mesmer, Taylor Mead, Michael Carter, Vladimir Mayakovsky.
Art by Rick Prol, Charles Gatewood, Justine Frischmann, Stephen Lack, Justin Clifford Rhody, Marina Loeb, Ruby Ray, Hal Hirshorn, Dennis Gordon, Charles Schick, Ted Barron, Joseph O’Neal, Leslie Hardie, David West, Peter Shear, Evelyn Bencicova, Chris Bava, Tom McGlynn, Clinton King, Samoa Moriki, David de Biasio, Jeff Spirer, Jean-Christian Bourcart, Daniel Kolm, Kym Ghee, Liz Kresch, Jonathan Cowan, John Lurie, and Henner Schroeder.
Back cover: “Barking up the Wrong Tree (LIE)” © Winston Smith 2008
— for Yun Peng Hell yeah I’m skinny. My body is COVERED in skin! But I’ve got my shiny kitten and I am not the same person I used to be. Shopping naked with my shiny kitten is like finding out that Beyoncé is experiencing a powerful yearning to cram my gullet full of Richard… Read more »
I don’t know what I am seeking In the cool night rivers and birds a sensuous lip a rainbow of dreams past waterfalls the ruins of cities appear and fade in front of me awkward man he dresses and clowns seeking love and shelter in criminal ways I want to rip off the mask of… Read more »
“You,” a poem by Vladimir Mayakovsky, translated by Jenny Wade, with a painting by Justine Frischmann.
for Seamus Heaney In a cold stone cabin In a deserted Cill Rialaig solstice-tide, West wind wailing through drafty rafters, Enounced aloud “Hrothgar Skyldinga” & your Beowulf by turf-light, Huddled in checkered blue Irish wool blankets: Those dragons were real, and Grendel’s Avenging mom an otherworldly force Today in my W.C. scriptorium, See you pensive… Read more »
A President who makes war Against and on Behalf of the Worst of the Arab world. Who sells the country to the Japanese government and its subsidized corporations. Who is a mealy-mouthed lying bastard Banker. Who doesn’t give a shit for his dog except as a vote-getter. Welcome to 1992— Mayor Dinkins, who is a… Read more »
1. fuck you fuck you fuck you scribbled the self- proclaimed, officially acclaimed, pharmaceutically addle-brained bourgeois poet in morning electric’s light. okay, i added the burgher bit because i’m talking city mouse stalking across town & country mouse, screaming at the wind screen all that streaming text one crazy-making dream. 2. even now, i feel… Read more »
The wife spoke to me by name: “Thanks so much for coming, David.” Some didn’t want to see him. One wouldn’t even go in. I did. I touched his hand. It was as if he were only sleeping, soft and warm. I never felt one so lifelike. They’ve come a long way. After a bit,… Read more »
Today the world is wet & white: everybody tries to throw the snow back (a girl, determined, handles a shovel gingerly, sends a pile of it scattering; it flies to the court below, exposing a red-stained Kreolite stair, freeing it, contemplation of her handiwork, the novelty of it in her face) to where the rain… Read more »
Virtue and Fear Stare at each other in the mirror, They feed upon & tease each other Until neither one remembers what it used to be. That mirror’s name is Vanity, It can make a body live in harmony With an improbable costume Or it can make life hell, A reflection of itself that is… Read more »