an interview with Michael Fraizer

1. How did you find your way to poetry? Or how did it find you?

The earliest memory I have of writing was composing haiku in elementary school during a poetry unit. I’ve had a fascination with Japan since I was young, and I fell in love with poetry later. I began publishing at an early age, got into spoken word in high school and university (competitively), and after moving abroad, transitioned into publishing in journals and online.

A big shift for me was learning to write lyric poetry in a way that relies less on narrative and more on parataxis—on disjointed images held together by synergy. Recently, I’ve been studying and writing at the intersection of poetry, prayer, and prophecy. I’ve also been writing in Japanese, and I’ve been delighted by how my second language offers me an entirely different mode of being, audience, and set of concerns.

2. In your own language, how would you define collaboration?

Collaboration is a beautiful compromise. I mean compromise in the sacrificial, loving way. It’s bringing your best to someone else’s best—but prioritizing creation over individuality.

3. How did your consideration of the labyrinth-maze inform the line, “I was searching for the way out but walls kept falling / from the sky”?

I wrote a few poems for this collaboration, and I’m still writing into mazes. I was drawn to the maze because its chaotic, repetitive nature matches the energy of what I love about some lyric poetry—but also to the labyrinth. While researching for the collaboration, I came across Walking a Sacred Path: Rediscovering the Labyrinth as a Spiritual Practice by Lauren Artress. I only read a little, but I was really encouraged to learn that my spiritual forerunners—and many others—have viewed meditative walking as a valid and generative practice. I'm really drawn to the idea of intentionally entering a system that engages the whole body, allowing one to meditate, enjoy silence, and communicate with God.

I’m an avid wanderer, and will continue thinking about how the act of physically walking can be creatively and spiritually generative.

4. How did the displacement of identity and deep hollowness in “my right never felt right / just left me empty” function in your reflection on addiction’s maze?

That line captures a season of my life when trying to satisfy some void in my life kept leading me in circles—through sexual pursuits, overindulging in food to the detriment of my health, and chasing success the way I saw others doing it. I think most of my poems are really about trying to break free from some kind of maze.

I write a lot about addiction. I personally believe every human has eternity planted in their heart and an instinct to make good things repeat over and over. My realization was that my hunger and wants were endless—but left me hollow. It led me to search for a source that was endless yet healing, one that could meet my needs without harming my body or mind. I found that in my faith in God.

5. You remixed the myth of the Minotaur and Theseus. Could you explain the myth and how you adapted or honored it?

I grew up, like many Americans, with Greek myths woven into the literature and pop culture of our lives—Hercules, The Odyssey, and so on. I love the symbolism and drama of those stories. The Minotaur myth, in particular, speaks to cycles of sacrifice, monstrosity, and deliverance—motifs that echo deeply with the idea of addiction and redemption.

6. What was it like working with Milenka and Michael K? What are three similes that describe your collaboration?

I was inspired by the opportunity to work with a dancer and a woodworker. Knowing Milenka would be dancing to the poem, I tried to write something lyrical and musical—something that could move. I also wanted to capture feelings and experiences others might relate to.

Talking to Michael K on Zoom opened my mind to all the mazes around me—in both mental and physical spaces. Michelle edited the recording of the poem with a house track, which, for me, evoked a hazy club scene. That atmosphere matched the tone of the poem perfectly, and Milenka captured that mood beautifully in their performance.

Working with artists from such different mediums reminded me of the malleability of poetry.

7. What are the contradictions suggested in the poem, especially the ending? How is this significant to addiction as a maze?

My big breakthrough was realizing that my feelings don’t lead me. Just because I feel something doesn’t mean it’s my identity or fate. The ending surprised me—when I reached the “but,” I realized that was the radical turn.

I can feel depressed, hungry, horny, etc.—but that’s simply it. I feel these things, yet I still have the autonomy and liberty to choose how I respond. True freedom isn’t the license to do whatever you want—it’s the ability to align with and follow what your spirit truly desires.

8. “What if the beast wears your face?” is masterful. Can you delve deeper into that question?

I feel like most battles happen within us. External trials are real, but the true tests are how we respond to them—the lies we believe, the voices that whisper in the dark, the beasts inside us that want to devour our inner child, who is inherently free.