The Sun Set

Written by Rin Alexander Ascher on February 11, 2008
Arranged by Ian Aleksander Adams on February 11, 2008
Published in Issue 001

The sun set all around us.

Laying down their rifles
in the beds of flowers.
(we were caught off guard, surrounded... by nothing)

But beauty, here I am!
Again lost, without you,
your hand is no longer a
sense of warmth on my shoulder or between.

My legs, too many lilacs.
For me to count, a long gaping wound.

Like... those of my childhood:
Lay splayed before me in an attempt to pull
heartstrings attached to memories.

But the joke is on, you friend, for I....
have no use for such archaic quilt squares
made by women in the dark
bloodstains on their fingers not from death
but from life; the swallows dive and create a sense of mortal terror.

In me, I have nothing left to do but vomit like it is my job.
But then again,  it always was surrender...
I alone am the figurehead of your demise.

I wrote these bars to your piano concerto that you
are so feverishly rehearsing;
my name is now a totemic symbol of my past.

I whisper like a mantra over
and over and over and over and over
I am constantly in motion
I am hypocrisies dying on your
too full tongue.

I am this dying tree: pregnant with fruit I am too frail to bare.