A Word about Words XIII of XIII, or, Our puzzle, our solution

The words were our puzzle, the words were also our solution, the key we needed to unlock, then to open and walk through, the cryptic, ciphered, indecipherable door we had spoken into existence.  Where would it lead us, when finally opened and passed through.  Into–more words?  Into speechlessness?  We had to say something about the matter, stuck in this one word as we were, as the jokester, or the cruel man, or the insane, loop a phrase over and over….  We needed them, these words, but what we needed we already had, we had it like the carrier carries his own antibodies, like the prisoner wears the key to his own cell around his neck.