James Tadd Adcox TWtKCD

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Domestic Spaces

by James Tadd Adcox

 

Room

We wanted: The great skies are open. Supreme objects and arrangements can [ ] to mist. [ ] us and who we think we are, any body can make [ ]. It is [ ] and the future. Materialism is being something to do. Right here, standing, a superficial fault, but talk and argue about [ ]. Greek Love is the strongest force on an object twice as heavy as an array of throw pillows twice as fast. It did not occur to them. Rugs and ottomans fall. Shakespeare Rimbaud live, throw out my old couch and you will hear their voices. Grandmother’s table in storage as code messages with special [ ]. And tosses the stools. We move [ ], tapping? Perhaps. Certainly an eight garbage bags’ worth spontaneous factor with a pair undetermined. I lose weight. Karen is one way to do it. Take a page. We are garden sprinklers on a hot middle and cross the middle. Formlessly in all directions, and… one two three four. Now paint on blank canvas. Section four with section one and [ ]omes. And you have a new page. Its effect is immediate, though [ ] the thing. Sometimes something stumble from a room (the living poet or writer you fancy till don’t know). Getting water, I [ ] over many times. The words counter’s edge, marring the pristine years of repetition. Now take [ ]. I feel its gaze, its judgment, have a new poem. As many [ ] jutting over underwear. In a [ ]speare Rimbaud poems as leftover takeout, far too much. I,

Room

body, hugging thighs and [ ]. Cutting and observes me and smiles. Words introduces a new [ ]. “Sit,” she says, patting the writer to turn images into [ ]. I do, and Karen tackles the sense under the scissors smell at my shirt and pulling off sound to kinesthetic. This is falling from a third story his color of vowels. And his people scream. Within minutes senses, the place of roescaline barely looks at me. Naked, or sounds smelling forms. Water in the kitchen afterward other forms than writing. Doctor and specks of cloth. [ ] and Economic [ ]. Lint. The microwave does not assume that the worst has my genitals like an idiot. Your strategy is at some point [ ]. Your opponent will gain no [ ], can introduce the unpredictable. Consider Karen’s legs, splayed of scissors. A doorframe. My reverie is the method is simple. Here is [ ]. But whose sneeze? Like this page. Now cut down “Karen,” I call her, you have four sections: 1 2 3 4. Swivel again toward the mic, rearrange the sections placing “Hello, I whisper” into section two with section three. My voice. “Microwave.” Sometimes it says much the same in silence. I eat my burn quite different—(cutting up politics [?] we place it in one room, excise)—in any case you will find bulbous thing lands doesn’t something quite definite. Take a steady fire, it changes every heresy. Or poems you have on it when I return from work [?] have lost meaning and life, usually persists well into the the poem and type out selected and reads from a magazine:

Room

“You have to accept that [ ] be composed entirely of rearra[ ] are not only fucking, but rearranging a page of written coarse [?] dimension into writing enabling” Yes, I nod, “dragging cineramic variation.” Images mine images to sound sight to sound the xxxx day. I take where Rimbaud was going with technical specifications for “systemic derangement of the reviews online,” trying to hallucination: seeing colors taste thing more desirable than me. The xxx xxx can be applied to conceding that the root of de[ ] Neuman in his Theory of Games unknowable. And, besides that Behavior introduces the xxx xx list of perks and innovations game and military strategy: ass [?] marvel of domestic ingenuity determined … by random factor. The couch, I know in my hea[ ], advantage from knowing your red fibers persist, sometimes in the move. The xxx xx method [ ], though we purchase an ample processing scientific data. How maybe love, as it matures, is like [ ] made by accident? We can not [ ], you don’t even know it’s there. xxx xxx could add new dimension to be expected, I think, as I heat in with a thousand gambling scenes, pizza at 2am, mindlessly rubbing back. Cut streets of the world. Cut listening to Karen’s writhing image in films. There is no reason room. Product when you can have the home early to find her riding all. “xxxxxx is for everyone.” Candlelight. I’d never seen

Room

the life we once promised. Perfume opens slow bottle. Likewise, the wrong bugle burning flesh children wedge themselves between xxx xxx are for everyone. Driving a stake between experimental in the sense of not, as is the common under[ ] philosophers assumed logic instead the sum of all things another object would fall [to?] Earth only when bolstered by the words and see how they and the duvets, the correct mix their words. Cut the word “So.” Before we move, I xxx xxx often come through the broken dresser, I put my meaning for the cutter. Tabl[ ] Karen leaves her desk behind improvement on the usual [ ], into the apartment hauling poets through a medium. Rim[baud?], 1920’s Tristan Tzara the man from our life is shapeless and a poem on the spot by pulling smokes less. Sex abounds ensued wrecked the theater. xxxxx afternoon our days spra[wled?] from the movement and the bare walls catch us like the Freudian couch. Then the furniture xxxxx painter and writer cut first a microwave and rearranged the sections at uncertain I wake at 3am, from this initial cut room, the bedroom, we contains unedited unchanged xxx xxx see the appliance at the co[ ] and meaningful prose slice of marbled pressboard writers, the xxxxxxx which has been my belly weighs on [ ]. And used by the moving and moment of weakness, I nuk[ed?] shots from movies or still cameras, a little affirmation of passers by and juxtaposition our last few arguments.

JAMES TADD ADCOX is the author of a collection of stories, The Map of the System of Human Knowledge (Tiny Hardcore Press, 2012), and a novel, Does Not Love (Curbside Splendor Press, forthcoming October 2014). He lives in Chicago.

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