Surface Tension by David Peak

Amputation of person, amputation of limb, amputation of smaller and smaller shapes of cells. Into his sentences David Peak fits deleted frames from wonderful films we saw once half-asleep, that time asleep on the sofa in that room we would have paid more attention to if we’d known we weren’t going to be back there these years later. A warm familiar butting hard up against a terror that fills sofa pillows and cabinets right there, rarely opened. A new kind of hair. A sublime and everpresent surface tension, most definitely, in all best things, of which this book called Surface Tension is certainly, magnificently, one.

— Blake Butler

Surface Tension is a latticework of wizardry, a nuanced intuitive system that reveals itself in glimpses, keeps the ravenous returning to uncover more of the puzzle. With a rare economy of language and taut balance between fucked cataclysm and stark beauty, between somber and irreverent, Surface Tension speaks mute volumes, spans infinite distance, hits like some infernal ghost train trailing goosebumped comet vapour. David Peak’s language channels handshakes of Burroughs, though is itself a new intoxicating element, something volatile and revolutionary unleashed. There are origins, there is being, there are endings, there is decomposition, there are phoenix blooms. There is the butterfly effect in between, all possible point intersections. Each word is a masterful, impressionistic stroke to be reckoned with, then from which to step back, electrified, and marvel at the whole brahmanic panorama upon which you have stumbled.

— Audri Sousa

Peak’s poems percolate, brewing grounds grown and harvested from the Earth, the aroma wafting through the empty rooms of our heads, spaces in which “our distractions” are “so focused.” And when we spill some on our shirts, drinking cup after cup, we might not even notice the stain, the mark these poems leave, one we’ll carry with us for a long time.”

— Eric Beeny

david peak, surely, has proven hear that he will be working at arby’s one day and his hand will just fall off.  and, ha, we know when it hits the ground david will just stare at it, his manager soon doing the same.  ‘i can’t work here anymore,’ david will say, his manager nodding, nodding.

— Sam Pink

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David Peak is the author of a novel, The Rocket’s Red Glare (Leucrota Press) and a chapbook, Museum of Fucked (Warm Milk Press). His writing has appeared in elimae, Annalemma, Pank, and many others. He lives in New York City and blogs at davidpeak.blogspot.com.

Book Information:

· Paperback: 100 pages
· Binding: Perfect-Bound
· Publisher: BlazeVOX [books]
· ISBN: 9781935402800

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