Mark Goldstein, from Tracelanguage

From my just-received subscription stack of titles from BookThug, a couple of poems by Mark Goldstein, from Tracelanguage:

By word of mouth,
a deafening volcanic rush
opens on a flooding mob
of anti-artists – your surrender
in effigy, an afterimage or
well-chosen title.

Ill, you threw the words away
giving yourself to the tidal sway
and all that held you . . .

Your absence testifies
to the nudity of each beginning –
a kingless burden
in death.

* * * *

Between channels
a white noise clouds the signal
pressing the words I wrote
to reveal, in a shaky hand
the root among us
remaking slate from slate
syllable from syllable, unearthing
the copper-light of the begging bowl
beneath the ruins
we became.

* * * *

This stand of groundlessness
splinters no core
its shared breadth

This stand
cut deeply by riverbed
yields nothing but the
pockmarked, panicked

* * * *

Mark Goldstein, Tracelanguage (Toronto: BookThug, 2010)

Camille Martin

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