The Buzzard

Within the common (all purpose room)

at highland manor apartments aye
daily encounter, one bewitchingly dreaded

fiendishly horrible, jeeringly loopy,

nap noopy, pugnaciously ravenous, talon

viciously wizened, xenophobic yeti, zapping

zeroing zillion zippers,

zoned Zuckerman alley bye

barred doors fate helplessly jury-rigged
sealed with with plaintive cry

no escape known to this man caught

in a deadly voodoo clutch,

thus doomed to die

ugly cannibalistic, frightful,

heathen rumors myopic eyes espy

alarmed at feeling trapped

akin to a wingless fly

tapping reserves of scape goat

coping techniques ingenuity,

which earned me moniker "fall guy"

where accursed cruel destined exit

from getting husked, issued

jagged lance like mandibles "hi
there unknown weekly reader", I

pray for super leftist
write hand man/woman to extricate

(via whipping up literary poetic fabrication),

then joining me to sing jai

(let victory prevail against killer odds)

perhaps summoning division

of British shiver rights phalanx,

hood reply with Hackneyed "oh kai"

springing surprise rescue,
sans swooping inside

this hermetically faux prison,

where Matthew Scott Harris doth lie,
yet realistic to accept my
demise without putting up

a good fight well nigh
but... if luck finds thee plucking this bard

(out maws of death) be treated to custom

ye will be rewarded with pie
ala mode enjoying a Quai
yet moment...yeah...fading hope...sigh!