Everyone’s so happy
that you decided
to read this
instead of
the other guys.

Everyone these days
has wires for veins.

It’s amazing what machines
want to read
when they’ve exhausted
everything else.

Everyone appears
lost in time and translation.

So here’s the official blurb:
(The blurb gives away existence.)

A gentleman arrives
from a blessed journey.

A gentleman arrives
from an ancient and magical past,
and rescues his only friend.

A gentleman has long, oily hair.

A gentleman dresses
in a flowing dress
of strange blues.

In his room,
a gentlement keeps
a basket-basket.

Now it’s these
animated particulates.

I can see
you feel at risk
reading about the unknown!

A gentleman has long hair, a blue dress, and a basket-basket.

His hair falls loosely on his shoulders, like a hippie or a rock star. His presence is grave, his manners dark, his movements deceptive, and his voice a warning tone. He has a basket round his neck, and a thin, black veil of silk shrouds his face. His right hand is on his forehead, while his left palm rests against his throat, as though he were choking. His hands are pale blue with glowing, needle-tipped fingers filled with opiates.

A gentleman is
programmatic wanderlust.

A gentleman is a tragedy.