// Matthew Klane



From “Area 37”


"No one else in the wealthy area." -- Leslie Scalapino

"I would never see towns again, or green fields. I would never walk
down the street again, mixing with a crowd of people. And I would not see
any more sunshine." -- X127



                                   Day 1.


                                I did in . . .

               crushed the button . . .


                                             din ion catacomb.

No one else amasses such              succession.

       No one else lets atoms lapse it's simple


       classes of metal phenomena, strata . . .

                                                 phren, abdominal.

No data-life graphed internally over

            yielded such infernal feelings,

       thoughts, impressions, things I did . . .

I confess,                                        my fiery.









                             Day 1.


          Diposition lithosphere . . .

                                        (per loss of activity)

              I feel it going underground

Far from fences, flatland, highway, city:

                                                   into the cracks,

                                             through the flosses, and

                                                     past the axe.

                       As opposed to

                         natural disaster . . .

successful suicide,

                                  the status of spilt guts,

                 my last experiment:

                          cement in reference to something.

                                the sum of all crevices.








                                                              Day 1.


             Heaven has the air frozen.

                   Char has a flare for.             Irrupting

  construction in general:                    skyscraper, sun,

                                    bus station, pressure,

                                           no weather.

                         No one else in the wealthy area.

                                                Only static symbols,

                    ashy statues grasping at plastic.

It's all still hyperbole . . .                         semantics:

        iota the land and

                                       into the isobar.


                                                    The hell up there.



Matthew Klane received an MA in poetics from the State University of New York at Buffalo in 2003. He now lives and writes outside of Albany, NY.

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