elegy for epoxy

i am building you a structure. bring the epoxy. 

roots under roots under roots. 

i lost sensation in my temporal lobe for a minute. i lost sensation in the left shirt pocket.

grief travels like this, through generations. 

you mention coffins many times in your writings, but when it came time we had no method of choosing.

periodically one of us would excuse ourselves from the planning meeting to vomit. arrival delayed by excursion to procure middle class beverages. 

we never had a treehouse.

triangulation occurs if one of the columns is removed.

i need you to tell me what colour scheme to use here.

'cause the music is boring.

if these intertextual references get too opaque, we can switch to hand signals. blink twice if you can hear me, yellow hair. 

there is a trick with dimes i am learning to do. 

where did you hide my UJ3RK5 album? no really. that shit’s worth money.

it was funny when you returned Baba’s high school t-shirt wrapped around my Christmas present in 2010 but it wasn’t funny when i recovered Brad’s dad’s sweater out of your closet in 2012. (it’s context, see)

a sudden easing in the chest. sensation of flying or falling. 

transcendence is impossible but if you crack the skin at the right angle you can actually hear the start of spring breakup. tremulous cracking. 

if the stream of consciousness for one voice sounds identical to the stream of consciousness for another voice, what does that tell us about subjectivity? about consciousness? about GPS coordinates? no really, can you drop a pin on your phone, or something?

remain in light. this is not my beautiful house. if you were here i might tell you not to take this stuff so seriously. or maybe you would tell me not to take this stuff so seriously. stop me if you’ve heard this one.