Conjecture and Conjuration

Contributor: Taylor Gibbs

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A body crucified on the wind,
floats feet of above the concrete,
feet below the satyr mewls.
Wisps of soul, rippling ribbons of mist bleed from the eyes, ears, nose, and lips, parted and puckered for an invisible kiss.
Lifelessness ruptured from the frail white skin of a goddess’ muse.
The satyr screams in pain as worm-like rivulets of blood stream out from under its eye lids.
An invisible hand caresses the velvet cheek to calm the pain.
The gusts that hold the body up -
the airy woman shrouded in lace,
her milky eyes, her upturned face,
the strawberry hair that floats displaced, the magic in her beauty,
her grace.
The satyr weeps on bended knee,
his doleful eyes assuredly see the great and powerful mystery,
enrapt upon this youthful beauty.
A goddess’ muse, is slowly drained of youth, and life.
Her skin grows pale, wrinkled and,dry. Her hair grows thin atop her spotted skull, hollowed out as the well refills - as she ages and dies.
The scripts of life are wrought,
in a time long forgot in the alleys of buildings here,
in the pastures of fields afar.
Convergences of place and time.
The satyr cries.
She kisses its velvet face
and muses on the sounds, of a soulful nexus.


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Student, poet, and rambler through of trails.