In Cold Blood

Encased in a plastic layer of
what he sees now. Truman
fell in love with a murderer.
.
The present streamed with the
helplessness of a man
who was to die. In the silvery
sheath of time, smeary with
.
star-treckian warp tricks,
the murderer softened, gentle
and helpless from the airlessness.
Truman was generous, but
never wrote another book.