(or: A Message to the Disco-Elite to Kiss My Poetic Ass)
the social eunuch rises from the lotus
to ring the gong-
summoning the faithful
to that final dance.
Nameless, faceless, the disco combo
strikes up the first thrumming tremble
of thudding dissonance.
It’s a din that passes for music
but that is in fact
Decadent shadows turned
on the features of the featureless crowd,
who began to twitch and jerk
and writhe and stumble,
kicking and stamping with a fiendish relish
that passed for dance-
composed in dreams
compressed into frenzy and unleashed
upon an expectant world
its own denouement.
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