King’s Sleep

Frivolous wind-coils hurl rubbish and treasure to obscure sites
Fortune bobs and weaves among the currents
Then swirls fitfully and anchors to an inattentive stranger
Someone who may not deserve its company
Who may distrust this fortune's relevance
Or it could attach itself to one who will absorb its warmth
Then rest well with newfound contentment
Play with this prosperity like a cat plays with a doomed rodent
Wanting to consume it,
Yet wanting more desperately to feel its touch,
Know it exists
A cache of cash, their pillow case
One eye open
The King's Sleep

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