The pawn slept in an overgrown city lot
a flat piece of cardboard for a bed
cattail and wildflower walls
a ceiling of blue or gray,
it was many dreams ago...I don't recall.
Pawn was homeless(on the brief)
slow roasted over a fiery dream.
but pawn was freed from the devil's green,
cord cackling weed.
Pawn turned into a whispering rose
right there on that cardboard bed
but only when the restless mind
gave its soul to sleep and time.
Queer thing this king of circumstance.
with crown of mist and robes of black
comedic cascade of karmic darts
that morph into feathers then back again,
and time will never turn its bow to yesterday,
spin the stars into the murky miracle of decay.
Pawn cleansed the soul of self
whisked away the briar
left its humble drool upon
the toothless mouth of yesterday.