Query any poem you want.

Life is made up of 2x4s, though building blocks their not.

It splinters and it warps, susceptible to rot.

We are all connected at the joists, but interact with saws in hand;

Remaining gruff and guarded no matter how long we sand.

Some in gaudy mansions with golden knockers on their doors,

And others in their trailers, but both made with 2x4s.

And in the end, when all is said and done, we act true to form;

For the pine box and wooden cross above, with contempt and utter scorn ... for 2x4s.