This poem knows it can’t compete
with its neighbors

the Freeverse-Smiths
over there on the left
in concise lines and white spaces
of their modern open plan

and on the right,
the Traditionalform-Joneses,
with that fancy meter on the siding
clicking along in whatapest iamb.

It’s no secret
that this poem’s comment box
is always empty,
almost as if it had no identity,
no real composition.

This poem believes
it’s entitled to more.

So it will lurk.
It will do close readings
of them all. It will wait enjambed
until their phrases are turned
and steal as many as it can carry,
stuffing its stanzas full of cool devices
as it exits through their workshops.

If caught, this poem will plead
no contest.

j. blakkan
http://allpoetry-classic.com/dune