The God of Dada

[RiverNotch]

My encounter with Dada is mostly visual, but from my understanding, however anti-art it is, it is still designed -- the last part does not read Dada for me, or even anything, it is too feckless. Perhaps randomness could be an advantage, but only if you have distilled the word choice, made the end a point -- instead of a reflection, all I receive by the end is exasperation. 
Otherwise, the piece reads kinda well, though the first part reads too archaic, and the second part reads too rushed. I suggest shifting much of the development in the first section to the second, then change (not really scrap -- I do like the progression) the method of the last. Some specifics:
"We, the founders of Dada-movement try to give time its own reflection in the mirror." - Kurt Schwitters 

1. 
In Nineteen Hundred and Eighteen, I normally associate that year with the end of the war, but right, the war ended on a November.
aesthetics tore, sternum to spleen. Revolutionary.

The Somme and all its muddy mess, 
the crows on bones, like Devil's chess, 
to cinders burnt Olympic lutes, Och, inversion -- I'd like to think this starts around the early 1900s, than the 1700s.
Elysian harps, and faerie flutes. 

The sceptre and the studded orb 
lay strewn across the palace floor. 
No painted nudes of Grecian grace, 
no wedding gowns of Roman lace. And perhaps too many fragments.

The guns had torn them all apart, 
the trenches thick with dreams. I was hoping the meter and the rime should continue here, everything's read so smoothly.

A blood-soaked muse stumbled towards 
an old fountain, where muses drank, 
but it was dry, and strewn about with bones... The image here feels a little repetitive, considering the earlier bones. A case could even be made for removing this stanza altogether.

To this the young bucks raised themselves, 
to dust anew the empty shelves; 
to take the bits of pottery, 
the gilded frames, and poetry; I'd change the semicolon to a comma here.
and mould them into horrid shapes, 
confusing, mad, insulting japes. 

As out in some Venetian street, 
a pair of ladies came to greet. 

But finding just each other, lone, 
they sought a single thing to say. 
'How sweet a corset! Whale-bone?' Another break in rhythm that feels uncomfortably out of place.
'Let's take a gondola today.' 

But neither of these felt correct, With the earlier but, perhaps "today--'/No, neither of these felt correct,"
and thus they stood in stiff silence. Somehow this second line feels unnecessary, as if setting up dramatic tension that delivers no large enough payoff -- and the thought of this stanza could be fused either to the former or the latter.

Until the words came rushing forth: If changing the above stanza, of course, this should be changed as well.
"Piss off, you slut!" said one to one. 
"I'll shove this brolly up your bum!" 
the other cried, umbrella raised. 

The god of Dada was alive 
and singing in this new carnage. 

2. 
In Eighteen Hundred and Nineteen Is there a certain significance in this year that I am missing? The question leaves me somewhat hanging, although it feels more a fault of my analytical mind. At this point, rationality is left --- and the piece launches up into enjoyment. But a comma at line's end, and no capital at the next.
The god of Dada was alive 
and singing in the Somme, 
as out in some Venetian street 
a young buck raised itself, I did like the rhyme between street and greet in the last section, it felt a lot like a modernist refrain (I agree with Leanne that this piece overall reads more modernist than Dada, but then I always considered Dada to be part of the modern series of movements, and I guess the appropriate feeling could be improved following a change in the third section), so I was sort of hoping a return to that here -- perhaps "a young buck raised itself to greet"
galloped aboard a gondola, Then perhaps move or even remove this line?
and crushed a crow beneath a hoof, 
its bird-y bones a row of pawns. 

In stiff silence this felt correct, 
a brolly up your bum. Lovely.
"Piss on, you slut!" said Faerie Muse, Lovely too, although a little precarious.
a blood-soaked sceptre in her grace 
(a brolly being without lace). Not entirely sure about the repetition of brolly here. And I think better still a comma at the end, to not make the last stanza a fragment.

The carnage singing, "pottery! 
a shard of poem in its eye, 
a cinder fountain by and by, 
a gilded shelf and empty jape, 
a trenches gown of bony lace: Trench's gown? 
please pack them in my gondola, 
then teach the buck to steer." 

3. 
Muse a. 
The of eye said then a god; 
Blood-soaked alive; 
Venetian in; 
Silence in in without poem eighteen crushed singing fountain shelf teach; 
Slut!" up; 
To "pottery! a stiff hundred trenches singing buck. 
Birdy galloped was out bony and; 
Being brolly shard the of dada empty and gown in this; 
In grace faerie its in by a as a correct them; 
Lace a of buck brolly row somme of. 
A a street on bum crow a a; 
The a. 
Raised beneath. 
And my please a aboard her; 
Nineteen by cinder gondola in. 
Its sceptre hoof lace: and pawns; 
And gondola bones carnage; 
Jape your. 
Itself steer" the "piss you; 
Gilded pack; 
Young some felt;

Overall, it reads well enough -- just requiring a bit of polish for the first two, a bit of rethinking for the last. I hope these somewhat formless comments help.

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Ooh, and for our consideration: [Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b-RDJ4Z4XrQ]