branding frank's collected poems

Francis sighed quite drolly. Caught, collected, webbed at last, captor Kyobo saw that KTF -
a final, cinused dosirak - branded half the poet's arse. "Lonesome poems
fit gloomy castles fine," scoffed Lotte, a nurse whose power screamed a new maturity;
"Goldstars, universality...worthy badges, true. e cummings, m ali and a jolie are
evidently so, no? Your morphine, Sir." Frank's solahart fell shocked in twain, immediately bliss. Samsung
then, of Herbert's song; a quiet, eerie wake. Anycall is made as read, insult now dehearted.