Forming a new identity and smashing
That into an old me
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.