Institutes of red-golden desert heat,

Of heaven and of hell, both calm and storm,

The rotten thrones of summer don’t rule me.

Flickering midnight jives, my fairy feet

Dance in fetid, humid air, July-warm.

The rotten throne of summer don’t rule me.

Broken palms will cross Grand Canyons to meet,

Nomadic roads with undulating form,

Institutes of red-golden desert heat.

India has robbed me in her winding streets,

Entranced my fire-hazy mind till I conform.

The rotten thrones of summer don’t rule me.

Waste not my foreign gems and river beat

On August suns of incandescent harm.

The rotten thrones of summer don’t rule me.

Scarlet coals whisper ancient rhythms sweet,

Lean, melting in the lazy roaring swarm.

Institutes of red-golden desert heat,

The rotten thrones of summer don’t rule me.