Art Archives - Page 9 of 15 - Sensitive Skin Magazine

Suspect Device

Michael Carter

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 ...

Flack from Taylor

Taylor Mead

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. W...

I’ve Got My Shiny Kitten

Sharon Mesmer

— 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 Beyonc�...

off on grand boulevard

Norman Douglas

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 cit...

The Viewing

David Rattray

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 ...

Call Up

John Farris

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, ...

Kiss of Kind

Carl Watson

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 ...

Last Supper in an Airport

Ronald B. Richardson

Dawdle. Doodle. What to do? Spill an alphabet, spill a stew. Fire the cauldron, eat the bread, soon those waiting will be dead. Down the supper, drink the curse; no matter how dull, death is worse. --Ron Richar...

Landscape with a Bear in It Somewhere

Rebecca Weiner Tompkins

The limber late light travels across the ridge where the bear climbed. Even with my head thrown back I still can’t take in the tops of the tall pointed trees up there. A friend’s death is flickering in and out of...

For an Infant in the Throes of a Fatal Condition

Robert C. Hardin

Cirrhosis isn’t half as bad As maladies you might have had. A failing liver strains the muscles But liberates the red corpuscles. When voided kidneys soak one’s dollies, Relief, like spasms, comes in volleys. Rope-...