Sensitive Skin Magazine - Page 15 of 58 - art, stories, poetry, essays, reviews and music

Die Harder Inside

Jane Ormerod

Die Harder Inside A hand. Wheels. Silver nodding, coffee, the inward flight. Trust Los Angeles. Collect and die. The baggage of toe fist and bear co-and-op-and-corp-oration. Frosty riding. (Live to thirty then flee when...

The Wrong Day

Vincent Katz

The Wrong Day it was so beautiful today, the most perfect of ones lighted on bricks and the last walkings toward figures one had seen all summer and would see again and my parents arrived last night after being dela...

Device

Steve Luttrell

Device She can’t take her eyes off her phone. Clutched in her hand, a tether to some unseen source. I wonder what she sees in that device? glowing like a beacon in her hand. She can’t take her...

COLD DAYS IN FLORIDA

Thaddeus Rutkowski

COLD DAYS IN FLORIDA When the temperature drops to forty degrees, people don’t want to walk around. It is too cold to be outside. They stay inside and wait until the days get warmer. The temperature rarely drop...

Poet Story

Peter Bushyeager

Poet Story The steel taps on Mayakovsky’s size 13 boots scraped the smear off his surface when he wrote while striding the Rockaway boardwalk each metallic rap on the planks a refugee thought gathered so he cou...

Hand Job

Ron Kolm

Hand Job It’s my first day on the job In a plant making hand trucks. “You’ll be rubbing acid on new Welds to seal them,” the foreman Tells me. “Here’s some rubber Gloves,” he says, tossing me a pair. ...

NEW YEAR’S EVE IS THE HARDEST

Anton Yakovlev

NEW YEAR’S EVE IS THE HARDEST By June he was done and done with politics and painting. He couldn’t care less where he’d dropped his KGB card. The shame at being blacklisted only sped up his breathing two or three...

RAIN

D. James Smith

RAIN Still vast, lung-wet, I lie there, awhile, Trickling out of the tiny cracks in my wrists. I waken slowly, cold as the sea and remember. Days I drove home weeping for nothing I could name but the bruised aft...

Dawn Patrol

Max Blagg

Dawn Patrol Lord I am risen from that misery and I wait for you Like the sleepless man waits for dawn The light was up at 5.45 am and I rose to meet it first hours of the day filled with rain lightning over Montauk so...

MUSICAL

Norman Douglas

MUSICAL memory is the mother of muses (of which some say there are three others count nine). and what is music but that which comes of muses musing deep enough our hearts do ...

Veil

Mia Hansford

Veil In a little while I’ll let go of your hand but for now I’ll rest it in the flashing blue-night dark, in the lights cross the water and along the bridge’s quiet: leather, radio, a nervous handler opening ...

Mom Used To Say

Suzi Kaplan Olmsted

Mom Used To Say Life is Rashomon, my father plays King Lear Mom plays Lady MacBeth or Katherine, the shrew, depending on the moment Brother Tony and I were both busy choosing our own roles, We weren’t always certain ...

after my younger sister’s memorial service

Kelly Cowan

after my younger sister’s memorial service Robin’s reclining chair & end table sitting near the bay window - ice box snow - find in the drawer her reading glasses, Bic disposable lighter & a stack of ph...

after cecil taylor concert

steve dalachinsky

after cecil taylor concert sing not song but string tuned harp(ie)s-chords lyric rhyme well constructed chaos nite – now a room floats about us enfolds & possibly loves us – a completi...

125th Street

Carl Watson

125th Street Once there was a Harlem of the mind, In a New York of green youth and mystery, Steaming manholes, fevered sleep, When I was a pilgrim without ambition. Characters with metal teeth and top hats, Sn...