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Waking with the sun, the goat sees the world in one

gold, slender strip. Armed with a Buddhist sense

of reality, he marries his hoof with every surface

at the same point of importance. At the day’s hottest

point, he sacks his thirst with water pooled at the root

formed like a dish. This is the time his fur is at its most

brilliant—a bold, reddish planet. A place where

actions are made by pure reaction and need.

Where evening spreads, he watches the blue house

of the future cast in front of him. If the time comes

when the goat’s head is severed, he’ll sing a song—

like all good music, it will hold a low timbre.

His horns will act as two coiled phonographs.

The sound will billow out of him like bulbous

sheets of canvas. It will climb out of him

like a man coming out of a man.

Listen to Erin read "The Goat" below:

00:00 / 01:02

ERIN L. MILLER is a copywriter and poet based in Durham, North Carolina. She earned her MFA in Creative Writing at Bowling Green State University. Her poetry and reviews have appeared in Best New Poets, Whiskey Island, Bluestem, Black Warrior Review, and others. She was the recipient of a Devine Fellowship in 2013.

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