PROLEGOMENA

Humbert, I have only myself to blame. You charted the depths of misery, sparing us no pain. I relish the words, only to relinquish the warning.

 We both knew a girl. Yet the brothers in bewitchment fail of full fraternity. You are an old-world peacock, charmer of leisure, lover of conceit. I favor flannel shirts, sell bargain books, nosh on instant ramen, noodle on guitar. A bird of plainer plumage, but still the better man!

So where is the justice? I spasm in spine; you strut in success . . . supposed success! Humbert please, nymphets, you expect us to believe?! And if you really dispatched a rival, you now face lasting competition.

You do seduce the reader. A wizard of words can conjure away the contempt. A fellow fool will also bare himself, at risk of their judgement. But maybe my travails will temper the taunts? And unlike you, poet of reprobate lust, I stayed within the bounds. At least my love was legal. The girl was pushing her twentieth year, and a middle-aged man . . . to the limit!

Though he does have a thesis.