in the shape of a killer

In the Shape of a Killer

I’ve got kind of dubious credentials.

A message was being transmitted from

a time when all our public conventions remain rooted in

a hair-curlered woman on the evening news whose house

would be burned: the women of this movement were perfectly

two elderly women watching from the second story of the back

aisles and, somewhere behind me, a man began screaming at a woman,

then we started in again, half stunned by the dimensions of our

peculiar hormonal momentum of business travel, and I had

some crop dusters up in the air at daybreak and

the historical irrelevancy of growing up convinced

Hitler put a bed in the kitchen to be closer.