Zach Peckham’s poems illuminate the 'bright core' of our world’s most minute, intimate units of measurement—cells, pixels, heartbeats, drumbeats, dronefuzz, puns—gesturing toward the consequences of entropy, a single syllable’s significance, and the overwhelming anxiety of meaning too much. These poems are rife with spazzy rhythms, static sizzle, screen screeds, dork-wit, and intelligently buoyant existential dread. Peckham’s poems belong alongside those of Russell Atkins, Joyelle McSweeney, and Graham Foust, what with their startling lines, sonic levitation, and linguistic pranks. —Caryl Pagel
Zach Peckham is a writer and musician from Massachusetts.
jubilat, Territory, Action, Spectacle, Poetry Northwest, Ghost City Review, American Book Review, @tuffpoems, poets.org, The Lowell Son, Happiness Pony.
Big proponent of the sandwich method, where you break off the bottom and then place it over the frosting to form a little handheld puck. This, arguably, undoes the cupcake itself, but makes the whole operation a lot more manageable and keeps frosting out of your nose.
Your advice to an incoming MFA student?
Don’t worry about being interesting. Just do what you’re interested in.
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