What are words
but the bastard children

of strangers’ tongues?


Like clay and mud, lending their form

to any hand that will mould them,

and do with them as they wish.


Listen to me now

These words or any other are

as much yours, as his or hers, or mine.


Each time lips encircle air, you

Breathe sound and life into them-

These comatose orphans that belong to us all.

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