the king of shifting Ground

I was intrigued by a book, it made me laugh so hard, Mark Twain's "The adventures of Huckleberry Finn".  Of course, dialect, but the hardest to understand was .... no spoiling.  Seemingly the dumbest character, but I dreamed I met him, and he spoke a line from the book, which spawned an amazing seed of dream of stupid shit I ever experienced in a dream.  The line, spoken to me while sitting on the shores of the Mississippi, no one cares where I'm sure, go like this.  "I hai'nt neva herd of no kang solermon, onliess kangs I eva herds uv were dem fower on de backs uv playrr cyards..."  I knew I was dreaming, if you ever wanted to meet a celebrity, a Johnny Depp, a Nikki Minaj, a Justin Beiber, an Olivia Munn, a Tom Hardy... and would lose your shit seeing them, I would lose mine to have a conversation with Jim (and Olivia Munn).  My dream, nothing to do with any novel of western literacy.  I heard Jims' words, and pondered love, pondered a suit of "cyards", four kings and four queens.  That's as symbolic as anyone can think, I don't give a fuck.  I felt I'm a King, whichever, it doesn't matter, and I have a Queen.  I take a wine glass, and gold rings on weathered hands "klink" against it.  I take a sword, and nations kneel without bloodshed.  I take a horse, and the world gallops to my feet.  I take my Queens hand, in insatiable desire, and collect the heads of those who look her way.  Inside, that's how it feels.  Outside, it's cold.  The river is mighty and forceful before me, I lay in the night at its shores, barefoot and hungry.  A fishing rod cast in the water, waiting for my catch, waiting to eat, waiting for the ground I call my own to fail, waiting for the next time to run, with an insatiable grin, waiting for the Sun to stab out all the stars.