“Someday I want to write a sixteen-syllable Haiku about the death and disappearance of a monosyllabic word.”

“Why are there five syllables in the word “monosyllabic”?”

“Our relationship is like ten turtles marching along, followed by seven beetles, with each carrying one monosyllabic word on its back. You might call that a haiku, but I call it love.”

“Even if there were only seventeen syllables left in the universe, I still don’t think The Mythical Mr. Boo would write a haiku. Especially not if those syllables were groups of “oh,” “no,” “ah,” “ouch,” “ugh,” “eek,” and “shit!”

“Might paint something I might want to hang here someday, might write something I might want to say to you someday, might do something I'd be proud of someday. Mark my words, I might be something someday.”

“I would hate to see seventeen people with monosyllabic names like Mike or Ann die, but if they did, and you wrote down all their names in groups of 5-7-5, you'd have one tragic haiku.”