POETRY: JACK FREEMAN – DECISION THEORY

Decision Theory

I understood its meaning
to the extent
required of conversation
in the cocktail pools
and heavy-air parlors,
but an explanation
would test the water
and prove me
thin.

And when a woman
in white silk
leaned over and breathed
vapor in my face,
asking for my opinion
on the very subject,
I answered in a cloud
with no edges.
She inhaled my words,
held them in,
and blew them out
in satisfaction.

And when we were done,
she lay on her stomach
and in misty breath
processed my words,
picking and pulling
them apart like
papier-mâché,
determining
just how full of shit
I really was.

And she clothed herself,
leaving without her
electric tobacco.
I lay on my back
exploring the pattern
of plaster in the ceiling.
There were truths
in that ceiling; how
the light from the street
drew disjointed, scraggly
shadows that faded
by dawn.

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