broken summer night

when the day’s heat rose to night sky
with moon, vain and aloof

the tenant somehow
knew no phone would ring
no door would knock

and so she gathered the folds of her long flounce
and began dancing in her living room
to bone-crushing rhythms
spinning ’round dispensing red rose petals
with fingers and flailing arms
from kitchen
to pantry
to bath
and back again
as her legs twirled
and her sweat gave birth to smoke
and her dress divested its discovery of flame
losing spears
of devilish light

until the apartment, too, became its own kindling
leaving a roaming star to claim her midnight
of undecipherable constellations

Dan Sicoli lives between two Great Lakes in New York State where he co-edits Slipstream. He has authored two poetry chapbooks from Pudding House Publications, Pagan Supper and the allegories. He has had poems included in Abandoned Mine, blazeVOX, Book of Matches, Evening Street Review, Hellbender, Hobo Camp, Home Planet News, I-70 Review, Ranger, Rye Whiskey Review, San Pedro River Review, and Sleet, among others. On weekends he beats on an old Gibson in a local garage rock band.

www.pw.org/directory/writers/dan_sicoli