Non random, but (based on my very
     far out, flimsy laughably
     amateurish thinking)
     faux feigned aye
firmly believe, that
     what appears bye and by
as erratic, kinetic,

     pathetic housefly...doth not defy
explanation, when theory linkedin
     with sophisticated espy
craft, and anonymously fyi
confirmed, grounded, touted...
     across world wide web
    of secret agents akin
     to James Bond 007 guy

remotely controlled, via
     artificial intelligence high
lee believable telltale
     (invisible) fingerprints my
counter espionage foot
     soldiers well nigh
came to this
     sticky hunch expertly ply

ying spellbinding twisted
     sinister and sly
and family tombstone,
    where anti-American saboteurs,
     perhaps planned purposely
     left loose ends
     only one practiced
     in surveillance would tie

dangling minuscule threads
     pulled together, how
     indiscriminate fiends
     of American government
     blatantly intrude zooming
     carefree necessitating vie
hubble counter measures
     Accorded unsuspecting

     and surreptitious ploys
CIA and/or FBI Intel recourse
     never need to explain why.
Anyway scrutinizing distraction
     from Insecta nuisance
     found yours truly
     pondering impossible odds
     stacked against this elusive drone

(YES), this supposition
     finds a "NON FAKE" assertion
     Musca domestica
     gets used to hone
in on random (a for instance)
     chosen guys, who share
     the christened name
     this Matthew Scott Harris,

interestingly enough
     tend tubby a lone
ranger clear ring stream
     of consciousness muck
cob bray undertaken
     (with grave solemnity)
     while awaiting for
     divine intervention

     with any luck
     after reciting pater noster,
     while this drake
     didst quack like a duck,
     hoop fully heard
     by cosmic consciousness
     differentiating my unique cluck
among the bajillion

     of other angry bird,
     calls and even accompanied
     by snorting from one buck
     king bronco minister,
     whose birth debut
     occurred, viz astrologic
     Capricorn sign butta no fault
     could hash tag, nor pin

     blame circumstance attributed to
     nobody in particular recognizing
     accounting held for no logical rhyme
     or courtesy of
     posthumously feted author
     Ayn Rand who, birthed
     Genre Objectivism creates novel
     page turner starring John Galt

     (yeah...yeah..yeah...
     him of Atlas Shrugged)
     waiting by Howard Roark
     named Fountain Head
     (with mine pent up insult
ting barrage of
     regular play station
     expletives, and time

     soon to call quits),
     where protracted radar
     enforced grunts to halt
**** sitter hub lee delayed by...
     an unexpected Alien abduction
     (fortunately nsync
     with my gestalt)
this male (terrific, sarcastic fault

less rhapsodic, quixotic,
     poetic, magnetic, exalt
ting kinetic, Italic,
     generic, energetic, dolt
copacetic, atheistic adult

prayed for nothing
     short of being struck
     by a (NON binding mortally
     Wounding) strunken white
     hot lightening bolt.