Online Issue 25 Uncategorized

Black Sheep by Casey Knott

Visual art by Renée Cohen

Visual art by Renée Cohen 



Hot pink and lonely amidst road

grime and weeds—a child’s


stuffed whale along the freeway,

tossed one day as a lesson


in regret and wonder. There now

under sun and rain and wind


and heightened by its candid

placement, like a lone shoe


in the gutter—some sign of life

lived. Like you and the veins


that scream along your arms

are alive in me.


You have no business being

here but you are, a shopping cart


in the woods, a stairway to nowhere.

You are a Styrofoam cup in the crook of a tree.


These hearts of ours have no bounds.

We are plastic bags that sail


from phone towers, hoping to

belong. And fools for ever wanting to.


And here we are with all these

things we’re bound to lose.


Our cities are studded with forgetfulness

and good intentions, like shoes laced


and strung from electric lines along

the alleyways of our rhinestone wishes.


Never to be worn again.

They kick our shins, make us look all the same.