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Poem

wheel ding utmost pro lix: 
   scrum compulsions won 
despite feeling dog tired, (like a ton
of bricks weighed me down) 

   while seduced by the sun 
solar radiation from the sky didst lightly run
sans, i experienced 
   a weird wired wider sensation pun
knee sensation otherwise, this sun dry 

   older puppy nun
the wiser (feeling akin 
   to an overly sated book worm 
   to boot) on a Mon 
Day, nonetheless, forced 
   by male incarnation from Lon 
don, (via NON FAKE voices 

   inside my noggin) a potential Hun
these tired eyes, could NOT stop reading 
   even with figurative gun
at my head, until only 
   sluggish progress made, 
   which daunting task not fun
bore witness thru novel 

   (in this instance plotting thru - dun
know if fie could finish 
   One Hundred Years Of Solitude - 
   by Gabriel Garcia Marquez) 

   pea pulling his story with bun
   dulls of Hiss panic  
   Alpha Numeric characters, -  
per printed page punctuated 

   concluded with a period, 
(premature mental dejected ejaculation exclaimed 
   how ah yee got trounced 
by harsh obsessive compulsive task master. 

"Nay unto you Matthew Scott"! 
Uttered by exactly same grievous rot
while er...mailer daemon (as above, pot
tent shill slave driver subsequently not

quite ditto for identical bon mot
mind wielding damn mask kid ding lot
intonation, now setting me hot
to worry about my thinning hair, the little aye got

as expressed vis a vis A previous poem 
of mine titled 'Argh! I suffer the plight of Bad 
Hair Year In One Day!'

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