His prognosis was wrong and I felt fine,
although the fish-seller at the stall
by the fountain said I looked under the weather,
whatever that really meant.
His hypnosis was flawed and I never
felt sleepy, never succumbed to
his soft-spoken commands; I walked through
no corridors, opened no doors, saw no
past lives, just his sixties wallpaper
and aging bookcase full of high-learning.

The paupers pushed paper prams…

His metamorphosis was anticlimactic;
we expected fireworks, we were given sparklers.
Like those children fed up of waving
a flashing rod which dissipated after seconds,
we were left yearning for more,
our imaginations always getting the better of us.
The myxomatosis is still here, so we can’t
eat the rabbits. Shape-shifters line the streets
and hand out fresh ones, but we grow wary
of strangers, people who dress in black from head to toe
and speak not a word of our language.

Accelerating litigation ignited gunpowderous thoughts…
Whoa. Reading and all of a sudden "can't eat the rabbits" and Shape-shifters. Nothing wrong with that, I just found it funny... anyways.. Very fancy vocab, also too fancy for my liking. One of those writing where I just go "yeah, I'm sure there are people that like it alot." I'm not a big fan of this style of writing, but many people are, and I'm sure they'd love it. I can't see anything to change, partly because I'm pretty confused on what it's supposed to be about. Each part has a totally different meaning. Well done though.
Your head slowly caves in from the compression