I traced her NP shadows
through a corridor of vanishing referents,
as pronouns peeled like skin
from unnamed things.
Her clauses breathed—
soft, recursive organisms—
curling around the ribs of silence,
whispering rules no grammar admits.
Looking at her raw corpus
Many contradictions bloomed like broken brackets,
nesting inside themselves
in an orchards of errors ripening into ache.
Ah, how syntax suffers when meanings leak!
"Hmm," Melissa mused, her brow furrowing in thought. "We need to acknowledge that language always mutates. Only silence holds true completeness. Silence eventually closes all sentences."
Tim laughed, as a brittle phoneme snapped mid-air while shaking his head in disbelief. "What sort of gibberish are you muttering now? You’re parsing ghosts and offer nothing worthwhile to read."