pondering the poetic promises
that the prophets profess
but such a plethora of
pestilence plague the populace
the peripatetic people try hard
to bypass the problems
with intense use of their
peregrinatory impulse
the possibilities are not so endless
praise the limits of production
the panoply of poems
give my hair spontaneous curls
i can not but pause passionately in
the face of all the potential
my pulmonary predicament
has pushed part of my life
in a pained parenthesis
according to the kinesiologist
eating pineapple would assist
but the prospect kept looking grim
after madame pulmonolgist's super proficient
and seemingly pragmatic path to deal with
and accept the prognosis
i have been put on pills
powerful and pathetic at the same time
i am rather pleased at my progress
let me get back to the preamble
of the poem and focus on
the poetic promises
let these pull me out of any pretense
and puppeteering
let no ploy plaster my position
as pianist and poet
with any plastic personage
pluck the peremptoriness from
the panacea
heal all mouths, mine especially,
from pitiable platitudes
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