“Panhandle my marble heart,” “The Crankcase” and “lost dogs in foggy nites”

“Panhandle my marble heart,” “The Crankcase” and “lost dogs in foggy nites”

Christopher Bruneaux
“Panhandle my marble heart,” “The Crankcase” and “lost dogs in foggy nites”

Panhandle my marble heart

Put my lips,

in a lonesome tomb

spread gossip of me on the shorelines of ecstasy

as I fall down the ladders

of your purgatory.

Please air me out

on Monday mornings

after you finish the Sunday papers.

Panhandle my marble heart

then

drink me in your cup—

ALONE.

The Crankcase

interests of chaos

activities with no hanging

meaning

nothing in it

nothing deep

no repercussions

no motivations

simply a national carnival of chaos

born out of

nothing

a perfect ritual

of

nothing—

all actions

no sentiments

I

adore

you

so please wind me up

in

the crankcase

just to

hear what sounds I’ll

make.

lost dogs in foggy nites

all the lingering looks

all the pretty words

all the love

all the hate

and everything

in between

how are we supposed to sleep?

how are we supposed to cry?

how are we supposed to carry tears

for

all the lost time?

let’s listen

2

all our laughs and crackles

booming in the alley

coming from

our cracked lips.

About the Author

Christopher Bruneaux

Christopher Bruneaux is a 31-year-old poet, musician, social worker, and a benevolent curmudgeon. Hailing from the great North Country of Upstate New York, Christopher now resides in a bunker in Greenpoint/Brooklyn, NY where he distils cosmic absurdity into poems about dogs. He is the patron saint of the down and out, he is the flask shared between boxcar riders, he is the rock you can't shake out of your boot.

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