Title:
No beauty was ever stated, the answers were never unique, my family east never dreamed of this<div>green place and I could never dream of</div><div>mortgage, land to allot, of being</div><div>someone allotted space</div><div>and green security what</div><div>can't we do, what<span style="white-space:pre"> </span>is elsewhere? what looks less abstract, believably</div><div>stable no basement suite flooded ceiling house</div><div>to be in but not of. Imagine</div><div>smooth front lawns, the green</div><div>the stucco of the houses (east) I grew</div><div>up in, all that glitters stuck in the surface. Sense reflected in side-view</div><div>mirrors, mornings in cars, wood once breathtaking rots in walls</div><div>I can't afford. Can't see the trees for the city. Can't</div><div>see life for the trees, past cedars and mountains is a 9% vacancy rate <span style="white-space:pre"> </span>life</div><div>is east, west is dreams, stay</div><div>for the city, for the trees. </div>
Author:
Bio:
What is the sum of 11 and 9:
It's your turn! Move into the poem. Renovate it. Knock down its walls. Put your spin on it. Make it your own.