Henry Hankovitch, con guítar,

did a short Zen pray,

on his tatami in a relaxed lotos

fixin his mind on nuffin, rose-blue breasts,

and gave his parnel one French kiss;

enslaving himself he withdrew from his blue

Florentine leather case an Egyptian black

& flickt a zippo.

Henry & Phoebe happy as cockroaches

in the world-kitchen woofed, with all away.

The International flame, like despair, rose

or like the foolish Paks or Sudanese

Henry Hankovitch, con guítar,

did a praying mantis pray

who even more obviously than the increasingly fanatical Americans

cannot govern themselves. Swedes don’t exist,

Scandanavians in general do not exist,

take it from there.