Discover something new.

“Angel’s Share,” “Mother of Muses,” “Do I Really Have Nothing At All,” “Secondhand God”




U were in my dream once, driving a little clown car

I could tell from ur sandals that u were Jesus

A v good lyricist that we also know as extremely kinky

U were diminished till dead

In my family the heart goes first so I make sure to stock up, 3-for-$5 or some such

Always show up on time, sneak cake under bridges

Thomas Crown Affair as indictment of late-stage capitalism

They have never been fisted by a deerskin glove

or tasked with changing all the pronouns on somebody’s Wikipedia

In that underfunded planetarium, rickety & New Jersey

A dumb lightshow of desire

We invented it

Everyone had gone

I had a sensitive head




Look at u, so smug abt ur comfortable crack

​Doctor’s faxed over ur results: still a fantastic asshole

Something on ur chin, chopsticks in the air, table manners missing like my gas money

No thank u, I need that like I need a lock in a sock: immediately

Ur w/ her now, fitness lady, the one u said had a splash of the coffee

Ur mold growing in somebody else’s basement! finally

I know u still swoon over packages naughty & nice, 

the milk-shits & boys who read

oh! dasher, dancer, love handles out of reach

There u are, serving lines as petits fours, more stale than the Commonwealth of Nations

Not sure if it’s worse to ignore u or listen to ur smart mouth

If the walls have ears they must be bleeding

Show hole

so small & grieving




some boys chase success on lilypads

other boys lasso w/ strong pelvis

the 3 a.m. call nobody answers

doofy w/ bearing of eunuch

obsequious, emotionally suffused

always plotting

shunned like teen mom

i don’t find angels terrifying

i enjoy them enigmatic & tight

i don’t mean to be aleatory

pls be gussied up to see me

u may look forward to the excavation

survival is overrated

i wanna thrive




wut u do on weekends, bluebook ???

everytime i see u

i’m surprised by how good-looking u r

at best misleading

at worst inconclusive

e—’s candied asshole

laid out for me like tatami

we went alone

eyes rolled back

whites showing like a furby’s

pointed out the sights

pulled a muscle

nothing but the sky falling

full of abandon

MICHAEL CHANG (they/them) is the author of "Almanac of Useless Talents" (CLASH Books, 2022) and "Synthetic Jungle" (Northwestern University Press, 2023). Tapped to edit Lambda Literary's Emerge anthology, their poems have been nominated for Best New Poets, Best of the Net & the Pushcart Prize. They were awarded the Poetry Project's prestigious Brannan Prize & serve as a poetry editor at the journal "Fence."

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More from Issue 7: Winter/Spring 2023


“Gal,” “Say What,” Communion”

by Adele Elise Williams


God’s Big Mouth

by Henneh Kyereh Kwaku