There is a peculiar knocking within my skull… from kissing the witch.
Quirky-alone thoughts hit me in little waves. I will pour them out in big buckets of common longing. Can you hear it?
Blow hot, blow cold, but know this, Curia Romana: You blow.
K.P.
Quirky-alone thoughts hit me in little waves. I will pour them out in big buckets of common longing. Can you hear it?
Let me tell you why I love the negro woman with her children: She understands the glory of alone.
Her diametrical solitude is delivered in hammerlocks and haymakers -- Break my bones but not my heart, she says.
An incorruptible ethos: Simply knowing that you are dangerous will suffice.
Blow hot, blow cold, but know this, Curia Romana: You blow.
K.P.
