IphWas a larvorium and a violet:A grave in Reason’s early spring. And yetIt missed the gist of the whole thing; it missedWhat mostly interests the preterist;For we die every day; oblivion thrivesNot on dry thighbones but on blood-ripe lives,And our best yesterdays are now foul pilesOf crumpled names, phone numbers and foxed files.I’m ready to become a floweretOr a fat fly, but never, to forget.

IphWas a larvorium and a violet:A grave in Reason’s early spring. And yetIt missed the gist of the whole thing; it missedWhat mostly interests the preterist;For we die every day; oblivion thrivesNot on dry thighbones but on blood-ripe lives,And our best yesterdays are now foul pilesOf crumpled names, phone numbers and foxed files.I’m ready to become a floweretOr a fat fly, but never, to forget.

– Vladimir Nabokov –

Pale Fire

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