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
Mustache (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-armored 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 winds tambourine.
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