Reading
Language Diversity & Thought
by John A. Lucy
during this period of recurrent migraines,
I am intensely aware
of the lucid evaporation of meaning,
when language is stripped bare of it
This morning,
waking up right after a migraine incident
in my sleep,
I'm immediately aware
that something is fundamentally wrong,
as I can't recall Anna's name for sure,
nor any of the horses,
or the nearby village
Heading for panic
I realize that I'd have had these attacks,
of which I can't remember the term migraine,
spread out across many decades
I lie back down,
trying not to care,
floating in emptiness and strangeness
without a working language,
and in an hour I have recovered,
just feeling beat and broken,
but fully functional again,
though with some strange residues
hanging on to my sentences for a while
afterwards
After that
I work – semi-professionally - with language
almost all day,
and tonight I'm sucking it up,
without any hindrance,
straight out of John A. Lucys
scientific lingual study
I know how language is without meaning,
and bursting with meaning
I see how life is overstated
in a blinding atmosphere;
inversion layers dissolving
like mist in sunlight