Confused Poet Two

I was feeling a bit acrostic, and could not hide my dizain from that silly ekphrasis skin condition they burned in elegy. So I sent an epigram to the seismology department, where it registered on the epitaph graph. The ghostly visions of the etheree spirits dressed in the latest Fibonacci made me wonder if the ghazal of the African plains might have been held up by a Grook, in spite of the heroic couplets the gay community presented in support. I checked the reading on the iambic pentameter, even though it made me late for my kimo treatments. It got dark, so I used a lanterne that lay about in McWhirtle's yard, and sure enough, nonet, there was the mother ode!! Ghostly pantoums made me start to believe in Parallelismus Membrorum, so I got a ticket for the quatrain engineered by the Mexican revolutionary, Pancho Quintella. But he was busy rubbing Rengay on his sore limbs. to be continued