Beauty is always a failed attempt, neverenough
to declare a unique response, to formulate
specific enough questions to find answers, how can you fit a family inside a life made out ofdreams not stucco and two by fours, how
can you live on earth if you can't afford the dirt you stand on?
What can you not afford? What lookslike something else, like morethan what it is, like lessthan what it should be?
Is grace a lawn? Is it stuccoglittering in the sun and is there sun and can weafford to be. To be.
Can we be glittering glasscan we be mirrors?
We want wood before it was wood, beforeit stopped breathing. Further eastpeople survive but where's the feeling?
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.