Balm

Sometimes, when my shadow lights get trapped in a glass box,

or some other times, when I'm thinking about 'world hunger'

or other such things written on recycle bags and tee shirts,

I trace a crack in the pimple on my chin.

the tip of my nose feels cold when

my mirror tells me I'm no more than a pain on its surface.

So I go to the store and buy myself some new toys and blueberry muffins.

Markets keep the ghosts away, and the bubble wraps never complain.