Shaken from my sleep by yellow taxi dreams; toothpaste is my cork, stopping the wine from sloshing around the great caboose that is I,...

Traces The moon is a burnt orange goddess traversing the quay. Beads of rain arrive as shooting stars down a misty window on the...

I want to be a person who calls to the ocean Howls at it, really And hears a roar in response A crest, an invitation to dive into a...

When I think of you I am afraid I think of you Kinder than you were. What about you did I invent? Remembering you wrong feels like some...

Chicken Plant The line chief brags of smelling girls on the rag Thursday he says he dreams of eating me I don’t tell him my dream— hooks...

I pose, arms in the air, hands haloing the moon. You draw star maps on my body unlike the charts you sketch in your closet: red crater...

*This poem references Plaint of the Poet in an Ignorant Age, by Carolyn Kizer (1959). On a late summer morning, I ventured into Rocky...

Blue at sunrise I set down that portion of me and whisper to the room “Not yet,” and this is how it is for at least the long length of...

Ly Faulk has loved reading and writing for as long as they could read and write. They still believe in the power of the written word to...

7,000 acres of incinerated forest suns burn through holes in my eyes fingers rake light through my skin of leaves every moment scalds...

The Middle Distance Inside yesterday, we walked through a skeleton forest. The sun burned the sky to halfway between winter and spring,...

My secret language is a cum scribbled code more immediate than a dream, but perhaps we can move past our cycles; reading Henry Miller. ...

Dictionary Definitions I took the book you gave me for my birthday, and smashed it across my skull, the Concise Oxford Dictionary. It was...

poem for the ghost of who i thought i was a man of words found hanging in the desert a song, but not the one you’re thinking of not the...

I am in a plane trying to let go. Talked too long, made it about me again. We are over the piece of country where farm fields turn to...

Findley Lake I have lived long enough to know to stay out of the water. Bug guts a crushed red berry beside me. If there’s poison off the...

I. Fill my belly with the arsenic and old lace. Let me carry you down the lane To the field where the flowers fled After the warm spring...

Sylvia Santiago's work has appeared/will appear in Bureau of Complaint, Crow & Cross Keys, Cutbow Quarterly, Honey Literary, and...

Content Warning: this poem references mental disorders, disordered eating, and sexual assault. that afternoon the therapist said two...

I’d like to gather my children and their children’s children and we’d meet by the shore at dawn. We would watch the horizon burn as the...