Perlun

    the whipper snapper child of the sun
His pert blonde spirit
    scoured by the Scandinavian Boreas
His head
    an adolescent oval
    ostrich egg
The victorious silly beauty of his face
    awakens to his instincts

A vivacious knick-knack tipped with gold
    he puts the world
    to the test of intuition

    Smiling from ear to ear
    Living from other hands to mouth

    Holding in immaculate arms
              the syphilitic sailor
              on his avoided death bunk
              or the movie vamp
    among the muffled shadows of the shrubberies⁠⸺

    Picking lemons in Los Angeles broke

The education of “Prince Fils à Papa”
              How low men die
              How women love⁠—
              The rituals of Dempsey and Carpentier

Perlun
    asks “Do these flappers of the millionaires
            think I’m a doll for anyone to pat?”