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(PERHAPS)
(Perhaps): Project
(Perhaps): Music Player
May-flies
winged like a hospital
circulate the lintel grass
Pewter earth
cascades in ripples
down the pews of hills
The valleys lips parted
water seeping
from them like myth / spit / language
I median her stomach
like any other
permed daughter
my face sieved
repeats itself
in autotune
Wherever the valley sponges
I am safe
away from my pulped -
and tinctured flesh,
my damp-eyed self
Bulrush spoked between
the pleats of my forehead
like fur
(Perhaps): Text
Other poems by Eva Lewis
(Perhaps): Text
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