THE OUTLANDS - we watch them going in a bubble of breath held -


It appears briefly as if from a distance the image from a distance. Spike’s twist, bag’s knotted handle, veneer-boards on concrete, squatting body. Then gone again. It appears on the screen a trace in itself. Saying something is about to happen.

A corner of cloth will suffice. Suffice for the mouth. Run under a cold tap (if it works, coughing of air in the pipes). Plaid of curtain cloth soaked fibres coloured different shielded from the light. Light in through the bungalow’s door a sliding door. Light through the webs through the dust. Plaid bleached decades yellow by light through webs. Fibres bleached the light has come. On an underside stronger here. The cloth’s bright threads in the fashion of that decade. Hung on hooks lined conscientiously to hang past the life of that decade’s fashion.

Cloth fragment. A coarse weave. From bungalow’s curtains, its weave. Ragged too. Its end ragged, unkempt not torn. Its design a plaid of thread (red-gone-grey, white-gone-yellow, yellow-gone). Now head tilted a grin. Eyelids’ underside the softest part. Then to cover the mouth the cheek’s inside. Soft cotton weave is rough not soft the weave. And rasps. Something like static. Moments before dead air. Static if its dry. Something like static rasps against the skin rough against the hide but to soak up water if it can. To be wrapped round the thumb. Cloth fragment with bone to support it muscle to move it. Then into mouth. Into the mouth with the whole as cheek shows content hidden (traces, impressions, the inside of the cheek soft cloth coarse against its softness). Thumb then cold cloth then cheek. Place between teeth and cheek-flesh. The thick coldness of cloth is from curtain fabric. Curtain from the bungalow. Bright in the bungalow from the resort stolen, the cloth resort-looted.



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