2005 (excerpt)
tiny thunderstorm of pain, everything you try to keep down comes up
in a wracking, throat-tearing stream.
but in a few days it all passes.
thermometers and buckets and wash cloths get tossed or tucked in corners of closets
and forgotten about until next time.
i am in the deep throes of it now though,
and it seems like it will never end.
daytime television fills my head like thick useless mud,
making my already sluggish thoughts slow to a crawl.
i worry briefly about not answering the phone, or checking the mailbox,
or opening the laptop. only briefly. sickness can be seen as a mixed blessing.
i enjoy the time cut off from the world. i just wish i could do something with it.
fever dreams mix memories of the last time i saw you with events that simply did not occur.
This passage is a beautiful, unflinching exploration of sickness and isolation, captured in vivid and sometimes harsh imagery that really sticks with you—like that "tiny thunderstorm of pain" opening line, which is both poetic and painfully relatable. The writer's use of sensory details, such as the "wracking, throat-tearing stream," adds a visceral layer to the piece that truly conveys the physical toll of illness. While the structure feels somewhat fragmented, mirroring perhaps the disjointed thoughts brought on by feverish states, it could benefit from a bit more cohesion for clarity. The themes of disconnection and introspection shine through, especially in the mixed blessing of sickness offering time away from the world's demands but with no productive way to use that time. My only quibble is with the last sentence; while it adds an intriguing twist about fever dreams blending past experiences with fabricated events, it feels a bit abrupt without more context or exploration into how this blurring affects the narrator's mental state. Overall, though, the raw emotional core and evocative language make for a compelling read.
—qwen2.5:32b, 2026-01-07