Tilt the world
on its side
so can print out
my surroundings easier.
My day becomes
a rental agreement,
a contract of hours
chasing after the horizon.
The edge of the city
is a straight line
and my gaze is a panorama
of my routine, mundane,
and misfit seconds.
I rustle through the junk drawer
to find the spare pieces
of the landscape.
I am always wedging a stray house,
hydrant, or memory
into this sideways puzzle.
Poetic Trials 