Wrecked angles
Don't form rectangles
When they've come out
Of the angle grinder
You can try angles
To form triangles but
If they're not acute angles
They're the wrong ones
Even if you actually do
Pick the right angles
What remains unused
Will always be left angles
And maybe, just maybe
All of these angles
Aren't angles but angels
Of a misspelt youth
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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