Incipit
Futurist Art The skill’d Apelles, by his Prince decreed To paint with living line the panting steed, Employ’d in vain each trick and study’d grace, The likeness of the charger’s foam to trace. At length, in pique, his dripping brush he flung Against the canvas horse before him hung— When lo! by chance there spatter’d o’er each part The painted lather that defy’d his art! Thus the wild cubists of a later age With freakish toil their fancies seek to cage, Though their poor daubings all would nobler be Should they splash paint as aimlessly as he! H.P. Lovecraft …
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