rigid code of obsessions

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!'