AUTHORITIES DID not release the names of the dead.
Examples of bodies laid out on
the ground. No head
on one. A crowd of
half-figures. One hundred thousand
images. Placing light shapes against
dark and dark against
light. No one knows when
the next will happen. At a certain point anyone
to do with this case disappearing. The levels
of the atmosphere and what they
cover. The places no one thinks ever to look; they
circle around the wound afterwards.
Unknown fingerprints, hoof prints left in the mud,
circling still. When the waters washed up nothing.
Itís too late for that already. A river like the
appearance of fire, shiny. The words fit too close,
the lines between the lines holding
the letters up. Inclined at an angle with another
surface, as if to cease use of key items like
fact, fiction. The sentence by sentence run of these as
if the universe were to be held constant at its
current size. Did we know each other
before? The movies we are or arenít
from. Until our voices begin to
return to another story, the dead will gather. Spread
away from the rivers down the night of
river. Wait on the sound thatís
made when the power goes out.
Recent work by Cheyenne has come out in South Loop Review, Ninth Letter, DIAGRAM, Kenyon Review, etc. and is forthcoming in Jellyfish and in The Shell Game, an anthology on forms (University of Nebraska).