Impending Woodpecker Doom

Whether it's rhythm or not
you must keep knocking
hard upon this tiny spot
though t'would seem as a flaw
to all in the order of life
you must stand tall
or get swallowed
by the employees of glamor
who work in politik department
on the reform ticket
of the old guard

Whenever it rhymes
take a dip
be sure
the sun does not set
on your flourishings
nor dare the trapezistas
of the hyper-boreal
ever to be able
to buy you something
resembling lunch