us, open

us, open

conceptual tennis in
the sunday afternoon ether
no forehands or
backhands, only handedness
like quarks and strrange
lawn attractions.

Hand me your verses,
well-thumbed and digital
game and set theory,
a deferred match
for points made or postponed.


the net that separates us
into rackets and packets
mostly made up of air,

waving hands frantically
to know if we're there.


(for robert rauschenberg)