Monday, August 11, 2014

Nabokoving





I don’t believe in God. But if I did, he’d be a Russian lepidopterist who weaves ethereal wonderlands with words. In this world of circles, he is a crystalline sphere, an iridescent spiral, unspooling endlessly.

Nabokoving with a flask of tea. Basking in the arboreal soughs and sighs.

No comments: