Small Rebus by Charlotte Innes

-after Robert Rauschenberg

Strange, how all we talked about last night
began with s—soccer, sex, Shakespeare—
their linkage subtle as Olympic rings,
the body’s hidden past, or maps that show
the shifting space between a delta’s fingers

and men upriver shot for screaming coup
that some magicians, fearing gravity,
refuse to say. Incalculable, this dribble
and tap of sentences before we kiss—
offering up our strangeness to each other.


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