Sensitive Skin Magazine - Page 12 of 70 - art, stories, poetry, essays, reviews and music

Seven Gifts

Chavisa Woods

Seven Gifts (di Ego Godgifu, Latin: the self is the gift of god) di Ego Godgifu cut off these arms and take them down to the broke place of broken trees and give them back their broke arms cut off this tongue and u...

Federico

Jürgen Schneider

Federico Those men of gold still drink Silver-whisky next to the volcanoes, Their cities of wire and death Their life a life-long Sunday. Captain Nestares murdering still, Lead-head His name exchangeable So...

Sensitive Skin Books

A Change in the Weather (revised)

Ron Kolm

Sensitive Skin is proud to present A Change in the Weather, a new collection of poems by legendary downtown poet Ron Kolm, founding member of the Unbearables and author of The Plastic Factory, Divine Comedy, Suburban Ambush,...

Formula / Expansive

Randee Silv

Formula / Expansive Formula: It can be tagged. It has a title. A double. A triple parallel. Trespassing permitted on immediate concreteness. A latched gate stood by itself to an enclosure enclosed. It fell and went un...

Salt Water

Randi Hoffman

Salt Water Riding the waves with my father at the Jersey Shore, I feel seaweed wrapping around my legs and taste the salt water of the Atlantic Ocean. I am eight years old, and I love the ocean smell and the glaring hot ...

Let’s Get Rid of Nature

Deborah Pintonelli

Let’s Get Rid of Nature (for Peter Christensen) Nature, you’re just a bad mother. Provoker of cycles of neverending Thickening and thinning. Emptying and refilling. You’re just a sentimental journey you sentime...

Nightscape

Yuko Otomo

nightscape (for Steve) in the distant darkness an ocean crashes against itself it is silent you stand & look at waves as if they were a fatal dream reality pity, charity or love of any kind do not weig...

Portland Sheets

Marc Olmsted

First Ladies First

Bonny Finberg

First Ladies First i The gold on the lamp is the gold on the chair is the gold on her cheeks and slitted eyes. Her skin, scrubbed to red, the frost on her face matters, fostered in dungeons, by ogres and witches...

o shitty guitar

Thurston Moore

o shitty guitar o shitty guitar we walk down the bowery down the street flashing time ginsberg orlovsky sitting stoops holding hands (on the subway) how dare they beautiful in the heat daring daring young old me...