Sticking it to the Anti-Man

Islanders, I've made no secret about how I feel about poetry. But sometimes the best way to bring something down is from the inside. Like this:






So I write a fair bit of false poetry, "fauxetry", if you will. This is poetry that is designed to lure Poetry into a trap. Poetry sees it, with its rhyme scheme, its abrupt line changes, its use of archaic language, and accepts it into the highly secure House of Poetry. Once inside, my poems can pillage the place and get out with the code to the smart missiles that will destroy every copy of The Wasteland.
Here's your first taste of the literary espionage.

There once was a man from Orange,

who couldn't have a limerick in his honor.