Epic Randomness

OK. As you may recall, Elsie gave me a poetic assignment before she went on her ten-day sojourn. We each selected 10 words each, at random, from The Word Book. We actually ended up with 30 words total, because Elsie already had a set of words she wanted me to play with. The challenge was to write a poem using the words in the same order in which they had been selected. We didn't limit it to one per line, or even to ten lines, but I set that constraint on myself.

The poems I've posted here were written on-screen, using Google as a lexical resource. Just for fun, I decided to write another set of poems on paper, which did not reference the set I've posted (beyond the commonality of the random words). Just as an added challenge, I decided to try to relate the three new poems as much as possible.

So, once again, your challenge is to try to figure out which were the 30 random words. The sections don't appear in this longer work in the same order as those already posted, but the words are in the same order in each section. (Gosh, I hope that makes sense).

Elsie will be going to South America in late August. I shudder to think what my assignment will be then!

Without further ado, the final entry in this round of Poetry at Random.

---

Epic Randomness

I.
Who was the bucktooth insomniac
caught in the act of masturbation
Who was sent to slay the hart
Who was the sculptress
haunting the matins memory
Who was firstborn, who was the last
Whose faith was stretchable
and would straddle mistletoe & cross
Who has tempted the inconsequent vespers
to become obedient to Midnight Moon

II.
She is transfixed by knighthood
with calomel-washed visions
She serves the kitchen-chair oligarch
She has changed her name to Midweek
Her pencil lies broken on the table
whose secant leaf transects her lunch
of paragon chicken and toasted rice
She wears a Burmese blouse
and considers her vitrifiable nails
as the coffee cavorts on the stove

III.
His restoration of the commutation
provided elbow-room in the
precincts of his Minoan maze
His aneurysm struck like lightening
across the intelligent dawn
He will number his T-cells, each a
pale soldier of ethereal blood
He contemplates circumcision
He investigates literal pastiche
and stumbles through the resonant dawn