open like a bag of puffy Cheetos
open like a tent
in the woods ,
behind the gas station
expected to open

with the brother
of a friend-
his name is Anthony

something about kissing
while being eaten by mosquitos

something about flesh
on dirt at 2pm

and knowing
it was going to happen as soon

as you walked into that raised ranch
on a Saturday at noon

something about being sacred

and in ten years someone calls
and asks about loss

‘if you have ever lost anything or

and you can't seem to count
the things
and you just say yes many things
I have lost
and am losing 




Every whisper is a crash on my ears[1]
And in the morning God speaks through
me like a telecom with neon sounds

What might it do to romanticize our pain
like if we make it this far without dying 

it must be true love
and all that like
the universe is getting back at me for murdering
a mound of ants when I was a child                    and saying

well remember when you were in Paris France
outside the Notre Dame talking to Harry Burke
and telling him about your boyfriend who you
loved and that same boyfriend at the same time
might have been telling someone in New York
that you were in Paris without him and how could
he trust you        but in the end                                                            what is trust
and how
stupid is it to walk through a hallway thinking

only of the hallway and not your broken heart-
                                                         these are the things we take for granted
and we just want to be an ice cream ball floating
in a glass of bubbles and gas and sugar             but then
a Polish woman shows up at our door                  crying pregnant

and says well         that you said to her
(maybe in the heat of the moment but said)       after all 

that you wanted a family and they should start one

[1]  This line was wholly inspired by the anthology of the same name by ARCADIA_MISSA




In the hotel room while we sleep
you are jumping a lot and talking
and I diagnose PTSD
because I've been jumping
in my sleep for a whole year

You wake up screaming
 'you don't  understand Laura'

Going to take you back to the shelter now
this fantasy is

                                                                   game over
What it's like to kiss a 22 year old when you're 29

What it's like when you stand behind me while
 I pay for things and

later I'll cry to you about how
I saw their baby in the park,
walked in circles    in a used stroller,  

and you'll look up and swear to god
there is only one light beam for 9/11 this year




LAURA MARIE MARCIANO is a poet and media artist. She is the founder and curator of gemstone readings and the author of Mall Brat, forthcoming from CCM Press in 2016. She teaches at Fairfield University and lives on the Internet.