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Glazed Pottery

I am an object on a shelf.  I hold things.  I'm a vase full of marbles.  The marbles are in fact universes.  I hold universes.  I cast shadows .

 I get dusted.  I get licked.  Mmmm... glazed pottery.  A woman held me the other day.  Her long delicate fingers turned me round.  She smiled at my contents.  She shook me up in a fury when no one was looking.  I'm still marked by her fingerprints.

Soon I'll be thrown from the window; my vessel being shattered on the brick wall.  It being stepped on, pulverized into dust.  

I have been the cause of joy.  I've made people smile.  It's been a good life.  Now I hope to be inhaled by the lady I met that cold day in December.  I'd make my way into her brain and make her think of marbles.  Marbled ice cream.  

Sniffed up, way up.   Slender fingers.  Fingerprints like snowflakes.  But those dreams are far fetched at best.  I'll probably be sniffed up by a woman passing named Gerta, and will be turned into boogers flicked out and carried off by ants.  Ants will fight over me for my (and Gerta's) nutritional goodness.  
I will be omni-present.  My perspective will astound.  I'll be mixed up with snowflakes.  I'll tour the sewers.  Turn water acidic.    

It's been a good life.  I've made people smile.  It's been worth it.

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