Beacon by Michael Joseph Garza


why kill a moth
enamored with proton
when the incantatory and iridescent
are what he’s after

not the cuffs of your sweaters
not the corner of any closet
(have you seen how light out
from under the doors makes the cleanest slit?)

silver of their wings
comes off on your hands
so you’re not stained with blood, but flight
wander is a film like any other
is a shadow placed along the skin

if he could he might eat light
the way sky takes time to digest firework
the way flesh pants for the vitamin of sun

futures clench like driftwood
and bloom like it when immolated
vigor or ache, either are flammable,
swallowed up in brilliant

it’s too mathless, this billow concentrate, opulent quell

that whimper so acute it can’t even be backlit
flailing because his wings and speck of heart
don’t agree, toward the threshold of metaphor

thirsty because that exoskeleton is too porous,
symbolism’s well dries up

one entire illumine has to be enough


MICHAEL JOSEPH GARZA is a poet and activist from Cicero, Illinois, currently residing in Chicago’s Hermosa neighborhood while writing and co-editing for The Coup. You can find him in every café in Chicago reading Wiman and Ciardi while finishing a Communications degree through Grand Canyon University.