Something lies beyond the scene

Something lies beyond the scene

the encre de chine, marine obscene

Horizon

In

Hell

Black as a bison

See the tall black Aga

on the sofa in the alga mope, his

Bell-rope

Moustache (clear as a great bell!)

Waves in eighteen-eighty

Bustles

Come

Late with tambourines of

Rustling

Foam.

They answer to the names

Of ancient dames and shames, and

Only call horizons their home.

Coldly wheeze (Chinese as these

black-armoured fleas that dance)

the breezes

Seeking for horizons

Wide; from her orisons

In her wide

Vermilion

Pavilion

By the seaside

The doors clang open and hide

Where the wind died

Nothing but the Princess

Cockatrice

Lean

Dancing a caprice

To the wind's tambourine.