A series, superficial cuts, the scalp,
angora goat, two budding juts of horn
are bound at one week old. A mane of talc
they tame and you are sold, filed point adorned.
A circus mythos man creates: a dance
of hooves, one horn, straight in a tent of red.
You shed a hundred sweaters life. To prance
you’re bred, be roses, oyster-cracker fed.
A scandal surgical that’s shooed away,
return to pasture, booed who did no wrong
All lights and legend, knows no other way.
Blueprinted beauty that cannot belong
Designed, reborn a show what would be shorn,
a goat does die a lonely unicorn.
Kristin Garth is a poet from Pensacola. Her poetry has been featured in Anti-Heroin Chic, Fourth & Sycamore, Mookychick, Moonchild Magazine, Occulum, Faded Out and many other publications. Follow her on Twitter: @lolaandjolie and her website: kristingarth.wordpress.com.
Foxglove Journal 