When I Go I’d Like to be Burned and Spread Through the Fibers of My Shirts by Patrick Panageas

When I Go I’d Like to be Burned and
Spread Through the Fibers of My Shirts

embed me in fabric that’s known my skin
fornicated with my pockmarks
and suffered my dandruff

I want to hold hands with dry skin
on shoulder seams of ill-fitting jackets

wiping the tears from loose threads
astray from a pack
bundled tightly at the seams

I want to fill holes from buttons long lost
on shirts i’ve not worn since childhood—

wading in pools of ash
spread through the wash
circling my mother’s fingers

Patrick Panageas is a lanky poet living in Allston, MA. He thinks too much to sleep and in the quiet alley-lit space between each snooze, his fingers capture the laughing, screaming, crying, and sexually frustrated voices of his brain. Eventually, he drifts off and wakes to work as a Writer, Bartender, Sound Engineer, and Musician; doing all with a cup of lukewarm coffee in his hand. Work forthcoming in @occulumjournal. Tweet him @PPanageas