You imagine
the women of Paris
with a neck open,
unbridled
hand ...
Stop thinking about yourself!
A life -
harder -
at my Parisian woman
kind another.
I do not know, right,
young
or she is old,
to yellowness
polished
in the glazed Hamier.
Serves
she is
in the restroom of the restaurant -
a small restaurant -
Grand-Shomiere.
Drunk the Burgundian
may want to
for relax
go for a walk.
Case of Mademoiselle
serve a towel,
she is
in this case
just an artist.
Till
in the dressing-table
looking at a pimple,
she is,
razulybiv
flaky mouth,
Powder powder,
spirits will spurt,
submit pipifax
and puddle pudret.
Slave of gluttony
sticks out without the sun,
in the closet
on days
clapping,
for fifty centimes!
(at the rate of chervonetz
with men
about
four kopecks).
Under the sink
palms washing,
breathing
outlandishness
perfumery potions,
over Mademoiselle
bewildered,
want
to tell
Mademoiselle:

• Mademoiselle,
  your kind,
  excuse me,
  pitiful.
  On the toilet the youth
  do not feel sorry for you?
  Or
  to me
  lied about the Parisians,
  or
  you, mademoiselle,
  not Parisian woman.
  You look
  tuberculously
  and sluggishly.
  Woolen stockings ...
  Why not silk?
  Why
  Do not send you
  Parma violets
  noble moussy
  from a full purse? -
  Mademoiselle was silent,
  the rumbling piled up
  at a restaurant,
  on the ceiling,
  on us.
  It,
  circle
  fun carnival,
  the whole
  in Paris
  buzzed Montparnasse.

I'm sorry,
for verse
and
for the described
smelly puddles,
but very
difficult
in Paris
woman,
if
female
not for sale,
but serves.
1929

Disclaimer: I just found these in my library. I do not have the rights to them,
I just them and decided to share them with you.