For some reason the meaning of
a poem dealing with chicken livers
and their division into tangents
skimmed my intellectual cerebration.
I suspect the ditty was not as difficult to
understand as Nikolai Lobatchevsky's
hyperbolic laws that state through a
point and a line in space there's an
infinity of parallels. Duh!
To me, however, it zips right over my
orthogonally erect hair.
I can't get the horizontal asymptotes of
my rational thoughts to stay straight.
My thinking kept curving round an x-y
graph in my inebriated brains.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem