I don’t understand the gist of this,

the Gigan, nor its tale;

 

it’s twisted canopy of rhyme-less rhyme

nor rhythm’s warped, unguarded lines

where no Suess is found…

 

not here, not there.

in fact, not anywhere;

 

not on a boat,

not with a goat,

 

not on a plane, a train, or in the rain,

I don’t get the gist—I don’t.

 

not here, not there,

nor do I care,

to make the effort, as I’ve said…

 

Although by now

My Gigan you have read.