Ten poems. No mouths, only bodies: a stomach that grinds every word, a heart wired at high speed to a restless brain, punctuation slipping out like sweat. Pierre Turcotte writes with muscle and viscera rather than argument—language stripped of its safety net, left raw and staggering. A sister slams a door. A father goes missing from memory's edges. A waiter drifts through his shift, unseen. A reader, alone, argues quietly with his books. Out of these fragments rises something stranger than confession: constellations drawn from absence, shadows bright enough to navigate by. Sparse, unpunctuated, and unflinching, Shadow Stars refuses easy comfort—no tidy syntax, no reassuring meaning—offering instead the vertigo of a mind caught between digestion and discourse, body and language, darkness and light. A rare, necessary poetry: not to be read so much as weathered, like a storm that leaves you changed.
 
TURCOTTE, Pierre. Shadow Stars. Montreal: Pierre Turcotte Éditeur, Magma Solo Collection, 2026, 27 p.