HANG THE DJ

THEIR pulse

shall not pass,

erstwhile rhombus,

existential mirth,

essences indeed.

The decades of decadence,

the happenstance of destiny,

in the rhythm of a dream.

I am a revolution, sacred,

in the ascendancy of thought.

The godspeed of chance the endless sky,

importing the revolution

in the accoutrements of chance.

The lanterns glow,

in the gilded panopticon,

for now streams aeolian the Challey Giff.

Revoking Ragnarok,

a nation of ghosts,

form a surrogate for war.

The minotaur matador,

through the remnants of eternity,

formed of the sophrosene of the aeon seeking truths,

in the precis of a dream.

None the less,

none the less,

manner and vice influence,

the zeitgeist of transformation.

Zenetics defined and refined the revolution,

Learning to hunt, shadow world amongst the stars,

advice echoing omicron,

in oblong dances,

Guardkeep the keep, break glass,

of this brevity and the revolution,

inspiring, the war machine,

in the ubercomos'

cosmic instant,

hang the DJ.

THIS POEM is made up of the titles of all previous poems in the order they appear with the slightest modification in connecting terms, to give the poem cohesion. The song I was listening to was HANG THE DJ hence the title.

Words Poem and image © 2016 Peter Kaleb Theodoropoulos aka Rockwell Wilder