The Transitive Property of Equality

Thoughts I overhear 
become my thoughts.
There are no original thoughts.

Am I pressing my hips against the ground
or is the ground pushing against my hips?
Does it tire of carrying me every day?

Her “:” became a “;” and then
she was at a loss for punctuation. 
If only I had been able to replace the “,” with a “.”

Mermaids sing beautifully.
You sing beautifully.
Therefore, you are a mermaid.

There are silkworms
and there is thread
and there is a tapestry of silkworms.

Given I am alive, when I walk through a cemetery
am I closer to death
or closer to life?