Haiku

Islanders undone!
Syllables mean nothing now.
Too much change? Perhaps.
 
Sordidly shouted:
"I'm best!" "No, I'm best!" Whining,
The children squabble.
 
The classic haiku
Isn't just a seventeen
Syllable blank verse

Though it is perverse
Treating it as such can be
Somehow fun to do

Until it gets worse
Breaking into metered prose
Without meaning too

It becomes a curse
Somewhat confused service staff
Think me odd and rude

Maybe I'm a troll
Desecrating literature
Loving entropy

Or it's OCD
That old pathology of
Order from chaos

But you could say that describes most forms of poetry posing as prose
 
I like it in here
the subtext's weight an anchor
to hold the lines taut
 
a home invasion
leads to lusty safe-cracking
by some light fingers
 
a thief in the night
picking the lock of her belt
to invade her space
 
A witch, casting spells,
Stirs a slack cock to firmness,
Invading his mind.
 
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