Pointless Storm

Forming a new identity and smashing
That into an old me
Feels odd-ly
Like I’m back at home. Within a sphere,
Glass holds a blessed storm – as it rocks, shakes the cork top free.

Inside; djinn, a mouse, a blur of an old friend from long ago. Certainly familiar, he’s an ass hole and should probably cut his hair.

The genie was soft and amicable – granted me it’s very own wish – that I never get one of my own. It laughed but took a hand, said “You’re a jazz cat and you swing your own way, daddy-o!” – a flash of green smoke. Gone.

The mouse, much worse. Just bit me and took my money. What a fucking sociopath. Why again were you held in this glass?

The old friend was mute but signed out, slowly, that I need to move… or at least dance.

He was confusing. It was a lot like me.

This stupid glass holds a pointless storm.


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