thumb in the pie

i'm in favor of regression.
waking up in an ocean womb
& speaking raisins back to vine.
there are rewards to be had
or at least so i'm told.
i carry a golden coin under my tongue.
will you be my pay phone?
fingers in the boyhood 
where only knees should go.
i tunnel into my wanting
& find only deeper cravings.
ovens piled high with hair.
my father's walkman 
& headphones to listen again
to the octopus's garden.
down there she's knitting us
life vests. it is too late 
for most measures against destruction.
instead, i pray to orepheus
for new methods. what does it mean
to sift for beginnings. asking
sweetness where the bees 
are sleeping. a tunnel to 
the other side of town 
where no sound can reach 
& i am nothing but a boy
in a corner dreaming his own 
harvest. this life 
did not come to me. this life
opened around in petals 
& foil & deer skulls. 
where is my gift carried 
by late-season geese?
i find bows around knives
& crosswords with only one word
repeated over & over 
in new ladders & lattices.
the plum is ripe as
it ever will be.