It's Worth Analysing More, For I Met a Metaphor.

Adaptation in Senses, Unnatural Complaining.

Adaptive optics are, according to NOVA, how to see through my atmosphere. Odd that I’m blowing it at myself with my cheaper instruments. The temperature here is fine , and I’ve walked to a room with A/C in order to let my roommate, who had just walked in when I had left, go to sleep. There is a girl sleeping here too so whatever;

now I am lying down in this here hallway, it’s chilly enough. I’ve calmed down significantly from that NOVA. I’ve cooled down. NOVA told me a black hole was at the center of the galaxy, something caused by wicked cold and deathly hot temperatures. Odd I’ve got fans running. And listen to all that noise in the background:

some kind of music, a static hum-fan, my respiratory system, my muscular and skeletals through this here pen. I’m thirsty enough for a drink, granted that would create more noise, but it’d sure calm me down, or cool me,

or silence this here trachea. Does the carpet seem indolent in repeating itself or is that just me?

It’s not something to cry about but if you’re already sniffles from a cold that might be acceptale. And after all, the carpet’s okay, especially with adaptable optics.

The Response to the Response.

Scott tells me I have a message! Hallelujah!

She tells me I am angry! Grrrrrr!!

Get out of my way, commas & periods!

Kathleen: 'You can't read your own work.'

A dichotomous item mash!

'WE ARE REMINDING YOU OF YOURSELF.'

and, as an, ah... aside, I like your bow, Becky.

I am inside when I make my jokes.

How exactly do I pull this off the page?

What might I do with the rhymes of this poem?

Count to 10.