A Hundred Thousand Rivers He went to sleep in a dream seventy years from The War sleep walked like a stranger into the swamp dead he swelters behind the rusted screen door watching the dunes change shape in the half-light before the storm disorders them and tomorrow arrives with nothing to persuade no arguments to make sweet bourbon the only solace cold water showers and palmetto bugs leaving eggs in his mouth The Atlantic Ocean had not been decisive bouncing over the waves in transport last girl's squeeze a song hidden from the water thinking of where his mother hid the silver the solid gold chain she wore entertaining guests with their lifeless murmurings good times will return for us good people she said preparing him for war he wants that silver now he'll turn his back on the prancing ocean walk the soft sun-battered road to the city trading salutes with the dinghy captains the trumpet player the chronicler wearing the new white shoes John Riley ...
Like the title says.