at home test

i eat the door & then there is no such thing
as disease. from the online place a little
box comes with all the words i need to hear.
i test for mirrors in my blood. i do the tests
over & over until one comes up negative.
thank you gods for the sliver of truth in
a worm farm. when i was little we used to go
to the fields behind our house for meal worms.
not the smooth worms of our dreams but
the anklet ones with tiny crunching faces.
we used them as bait to fish for lungs. 
i drove the car even though
my feet could barely reach the pedals. a bicycle
lodged in the ceiling. a doorless house. 
we used foil to try to keep the lid on all
this breath. i am a fiend for reassurance.
someone tell me, "yes we are all going to survive."
i wake you up in the middle of a plum.
dark purple skin of the stars. you say,
"go back to sleep." i beg, "tell me i am alive.
tell me i am not sick." of course i am. in new ways
every time the sun unpeels & buries her left foot.
you are not a liar so you don't agree 
to lie. instead, you buy a pocket doctor.
his instructions say, "put him in a glass
of water for a diagnosis." i do that & wait.
he says, "you are a deviant." i sigh. i could have
saved some waiting. i already knew that part
but what else? there are not enough sand boxes
for adults. the ocean spits out a child every
full moon. that was me. my skin still 
aching without a trench. let's not get carried away.
there are rocks that bleed. there is no way out.
when i am really desperate i want to call my mom.
i don't do that though. i think that balloon
is on another planet. instead, i put my ear
to a tree. hear the water trekking up her throat. 
sometimes, when no one else is around
she will give me what i need. she'll lie to me.
she'll say, "you are cured forever now" &
for that i'll thank her by pressing a penny
into the rain-soft earth then find it weeks later
when all its shine is used up 
sitting on my forehead in the middle of the night.