How many sons must I swallow
To reach absolute zero
What I thought was a flame inside my heart
Is only frostbite
Disintegrating from within and holding the core of you in my mouth
Cronos stone, and I may lay in torpor
From this blood bitter pill
Let me lie and donít wake me
As I let you lie for years
Let the shroud cover us in this bed
Cobweb smooth as velvet sheets
And donít make a sound, my darling.
If no one stirs, we wonít wake hungry ghosts
And nothing shall consume us
I like this because the first two lines are sort of plain stated and not, they are kind of illuminant and I can see this dark landscape beyond which the orange orb of the sun is swallowed and it's sort of beautiful and (present) backed up a bit from the pain. All of those things
Cronos stone and torpor deserve further investigation, and going back there's the eating of sons, so this is probably in and around the mythical, but for now, I just wanted to say these things - and
that I enjoy the very precise syllabic quality of this and how each line turns a thought in to something else.
a simple hurt. That's what it makes me think. Things that will not calculate presume to be ongoing. That is is the toughest place.