hypochondria 

come & let's catalog all our soft parts.
i put a needle 
through my ear drum & hear
gulls. 
the word "hypochondria"
comes from an ancient greek word
meaning "between the ribs 
& navel." here is where all my worms go.
they believed this was where
sadness lived. there is so much wisdom
in all the old science. 
i have felt my sorrow there
like a water wheel.
this is all to say
sometimes i make lists
of all the ways i am dying.
it doesn't help that
i am sick it so many 
bright & gleaming ways.
pills, like little eyes in their bottles.
the doctor measuring my skull
& saying, "there is a spider
big enough to crawl
in your mouth when you sleep."
i go to webmd when i want
to feel the full panic. 
cancer & lung collapse 
& sepsis. i imagine somewhere
there is a little angel man who
has to write all these entries.
sometimes he pauses
at the completion 
of an article.
he considers adding
a short poem before 
reminding himself
that science is not supposed
to sing. i trace my melancholy. 
count my ribs. i am missing one
& it is off being something else.
maybe a spoon or maybe
a bookmark. i look
in every encylopedia for an ailment
to explain this
but there is none.