The questions surface amid abstracted city.
Face frozen, shocked state, sense beyond space,
look on top of wood of old pine, dusty streets and neighborhoods the same. Where else could you fine answers certainly not here. Maybe move to the east side family beauty within reflection fit through the trees, beside grace, fresh air, sunny and gay. Mortgage house sliced into beam within land, because of forest left determine to sink like quick sand.
City outside over there waiting to creep, else where, no where, trap between look and image for future progress whistling hot tea kattle peek, fallen.
What is the sum of 9 and 11:
It's your turn! Move into the poem. Renovate it. Knock down its walls. Put your spin on it. Make it your own.