Maxwell Suzuki (he/him) is a queer writer who lives in Los Angeles. He is the Prose Editor for Passengers Journal, a Fiction Reader for The Rumpus, and was on the staff of Guernica Magazine, JMWW Journal, and Split/Lip Press. Maxwell is the author of the fiction chapbook, 'Voyager 2, This is Voyager 1, Over' (Gold Line Press, 2024) and the poetry chapbook, 'Bust of an Athlete' (Iron Horse Literary Review, 2024). His work has appeared in Craft Literary, Lunch Ticket, The Normal School, ANMLY, South Dakota Review, and elsewhere.

Other poems on the web by Maxwell Suzuki:
"I Decided Then to be Winter"
"Wrestling"
"Rice Queens"

Maxwell Suzuki's Website.

Maxwell Suzuki on Twitter.

About Bust of an Athlete:

"In Maxwell Suzuki's Bust of an Athlete, the poems ache. From pain and absence, lust and growth, the speaker seeks ache as proof: I am alive. I am now and forever. Skillfully braiding classical and contemporary motifs, Suzuki explores desire as youthful and ancient in a 'world blanketed in mistakes” where “there are men coming out to each other every / time they say, I love you.' Readers will find desire they know (and don't know) in these boldly erotic poems. They will find themselves pinned, likely cradled, and better for it."
—Ben Kline

"Maxwell Suzuki's Bust of an Athlete is a daring book of poems. Revelatory and surprising, these poems address queer identity and longing in a world that expands and collapses time between the past and the present. These are poems that explore the intensity of desire, sexuality, and devotion, and seek transformation through the evocative image. Throughout, the poet investigates the self in tension with eros, asking 'What happens when / I am trusted enough to exist?' Maxwell Suzuki is a poet to watch."
—L. A. Johnson

"Maxwell Suzuki's gorgeous chapbook, Bust of an Athlete, drips with a private longing, a lubed-up ache. The bodies here are always molten, in-transition, queerly and endlessly coming-to-be. Statues clothed in living flesh. These poems are risky, raunchy, tender. They're dense with stifled desire—piss fermenting in a pair of rubber rain pants; barbecue sauce licked from the back of a lover's teeth. 'They have wrecked / us into believing fragments of ourselves,' Suzuki writes in 'Telephone.' These poems are an un-wrecking. A re-believing. A re-assembling of the fragmented self into an ever-shifting whole."
—Josh Tvrdy