Down in heat, direction wise,
It's sweaty night and day.
Glows the sky: a drying heat,
But Brown won't go away.
Animals lay in the streets;
Their moisture running off:
Ditches fill with sickening.
The mention makes me scoff.
The Boiling gets too much for me;
I pray freedom from sludge.
I pray, God, gather up these bones:
A beach boy in the Mud.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem