Shazia Hafiz Ramji
Even then I imagine touching myself while you’re in my bed and your eyes are closed and wet....
Even then I imagine touching myself while you’re in my bed and your eyes are closed and wet....
i go in search of myself i find a thorn a train ticket a sense oil, and a whisper ...
the problem is. I’m trying not to look. at the gazes coming through the Café Window. am I Whimsical enough? waiting....
i put the moon under my tongue a token, the moon told jokes & swam around my head...
i am starting to feel something resembling a fierce desire to move away from myself at lightspeed toward a cold silent massive void ...
the backbone of my existence is a warm shower there’s a magnet holding a red apron made of serious wood and feathers...
i see brown brothers break open their rib-cages to drink the urine of pale women. not-my-colour women....
sometimes i wonder who sews the flowers on these motel bed spreads and on the pillowcases...
sitting on the couch turning on the television so I can have some visions I need some visions lemme get some visions oh I must have done something wrong...
Sometimes, when I worry, I picture that sherbet sunset we saw right before I left. The river was frozen, and the trees looked like running ink, silhouetting against the water. Memory is a wobbly plinth. I live in the past to be okay. ...