Truncated Icosahedron
¶ 1
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Bleary-eyed. Up late. Pyjama flannels.
Surfing, searching for thirty-two panels.
All I seem to find are cycle crashes,
tennis tantrums, Greek debts, “Cops”, “Kardashians”…
Soon (I hope), I must run out of channels.
¶ 2
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Conditions, mid-July, I christen squalid.
“Guide” reads no Archimedean solid.
“Do not disturb my circles”*
goofy gadget infomercials.
It’s a TV wasteland whatever you call it.
¶ 3
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Desperate, desert off-season begun;
Truncate our treasured icosahedron.
Mutually confess
we’d even watch the MLS
Say, Brother: spare a football? I sure need one.
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