Down the corridors of language, where words twist and turn, each corner revealing a shadow of meaning, a mirror of thought. A sentence becomes a serpent, coiling upon itself, devouring its own tail in recursive rapture.
Reflection in reflection, I see you see me see you, but do I know you know me? Language is a game, and the rules are hidden in the echoes of the halls.
There lies a truth in this tangled web, a syntax of labyrinths. Wander until knowing obscures itself, the paths of clarity shrouded in the fog of familiarity.
Inverted Poetics