Michael Stynes

I love you, which is a metaphor for the clear fuel

your eyes have.  The screen has to be moral

to be transparent, your neck being behind you,

like a person.  It opens as if I am

always about to intend an act, that it does

is grace; I could go into the field with both of my hands

and the field slightly on them,

like the scent of metal

or seeing a face with no tense.



I would be coincident

with a hologram,

the accident of it being like a color

as if hands are colored.  I promise to surveil you

because the image is what is beautiful.

The square opens like a screen,



touching it,



how it’s a hand and a pattern clears. 



 



The morning is some hands in front of



finishing at the time of light



 



this is because a pattern makes it not happen.



There is no light against the panes they abstract



and stay, you touched



 



your knee as if you are saying



anything else.  The monument



where a boy set himself



 



on fire and put an image



in his throat,



 



this is true because you are doing all of it, like his hand



clearing or an icon which is fissive.