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!