Sinister black butterflies
Have blacked out the radiant sun,
And the horizon seems a grimoire
Scrawled in ink when day is done.
From occult censers drift
Memory-troubling perfumes:
Sinister black butterflies
Have blacked out the radiant sun,
Monsters with viscous suckers
Searching for blood to drink,
And from the skies, a powder black,
Descends upon our despairs.
Sinister black butterflies.
Albert Giraud (Émile Albert Kayenberg),
