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About Varied / Student AllisonFemale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 10 Years
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Last Peach
We sat across from each other on a wide couch
as I ate the last peach in the bag
A half-peck of peaches, and now the last of its juice ran down my sleeve like a secret
Flesh caving into pockets of yellow light.
we ate four peaches each yesterday
four peaches.
And she told me that back in the orchard, too much peach fuzz left an itch on your skin like a crust of sun or toast under the knife. She told me that she and her girlfriend had been off and on since September.
I like that her lips are so pale that they fade into her skin, the boundaries further blurred by the hint of freckles that bristle up over her lip line, the perfect piqued O of pink and tan.
I like that the end and the beginning are only suggestions, a change of blush, a well placed star in the night sky tells you where to follow through to Orion's belt.
and yet.
When I finished the last peach in the bag
I held the pit in my mouth for a long time learning its tufts and crevaces
I felt the trail of sweet dry down
:iconallicat17:allicat17 2 0
For the Truck or for the Road
I sit with one eye heavy on the porch the other eye heaving on you like Cusp distracts the first. You got me rolling the sap; you got me rolling heavy curls in my self like a clap of thunder. Hounded and hesitating brick, you lurk my nostril and shrill my tongue to a dried out pork flap sting. Dried out you got me heavy on the bed, not slapped but weighted. Weighted and heavy with rain. But not weighted, waiting, with thunder hoisting tendril after tendril.
Having rusted the first I hesitate the bed, slapped the pork flap tusk all for you. And here I sit on the porch eyes heavy breast bucket. Soothed in guts and rolled out flat all told mother, clap of thunder. Dried out lurk soothed by another clasp of hand under husk. Hands over heels I clasp those cusps I grasp the guts of luck for you. For you I grasp the guts of luck, retching. Yet grasp is of the porch and not on you, not of becoming or going into you, not you.
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Do Not Eat a Plum in the Art Gallery
Do not eat a plum in the art gallery.
Do not eat a plum in the art gallery.
Do not smell her hands as she eats a plum in the art gallery.
Lewd conduct and sticky situations are not tolerated
In the art gallery.
Lewd people will be banished
from the art gallery.
If you do eat a plum in the art gallery;
Wash your hands
Do not let its juices dry into unknown hands
drying into yours
or into another.
Do not unknow the hands or the plum
or all told know
the plums surface as your own
:iconallicat17:allicat17 0 0
Feline Appetite
In the picture of Garfield, I could not tell if the lasagna was coming out of the mouth or going in, a muddle of wheat and cow excretions  layered together for a cat to turn into ambiguous American hungers on the couch, against the salmon pink wall of an average living room. We want to see a cat do what we do so we can say, "were I a cat, I would have the same desires as I do now, so my desires are natural." Our excretions are neutral and our valves are a little leaky, but no more leaky then the next poor SOB shoving a fistful of berries into his privates to see how it feels, smiling mischievously even though no one can see. Stopping for a minute to appreciate the irony, of a cat eating human food, doing human things. But it is not irony, it is the cycles of consumption and excretion reduced into blocks of salmon pink against orange mitt in the Sunday funnies, the orange mitt of orange mitt dots placed by the orange mitt dot machine, which does not care if the lasagna goes in
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Genuine Articles
Everything I make I want to give to someone,
To hang on the refrigerator or to tuck away in some basement or another.
I found a leather bag, perfect, but for the hole, and when it was patched and good as new I hung it on your doorknob, and waited for you to come home. As I lay in bed  I thought of all your genuine articles, purchased in stores, made by somebody else with sores on their fingers from sewing. My own finger's are nubile and incomplete by comparison, completeness being a work that warps the body.
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Plate Glass Room
I am ready to sit in a room with no lights,
Not like death (an easy metaphor) but like
Any grey afternoon in the city
There are no prerequisites for the drizzle of muck down a cab window
Or the pressure of your heart against it's plate glass room,
Looking out like a celebrity stuck in traffic on 59th.
:iconallicat17:allicat17 1 0
Beautiful things for your whole life
I saw the way you ate today,
You ordered salmon, eggs, and avocado.
Pink salmon, yellow eggs, and green avocado ,
Each separate, on a red plate.
I watched the way you ate them,
As if you had eaten beautiful things
For your whole life.
:iconallicat17:allicat17 0 0
My Art is a Dying Art
My art is a dying art
it is an art of dying and dying
every day, I am throwing myself against brick walls and down stairs
I am sucking my teeth at passers by
I am gripping my foot and coddling my sores.
Nobody help me!
I have saved the best for last
and in my becoming I have out-become myself,
imperfect from the start
like some grasping metal or an irresolute
:iconallicat17:allicat17 0 0
Notepad Poems
Sometimes words are like blocks I  can't unravel
the A sound and the E sound not blending
but standing opaquely separate,
On those days there are less
peripherals and more concretes.
We had an argument;
"gold is IN fashion" I said,
IN-fact there is no fashion that
shaves at hearts threads
summed and stubbled in gold lear
trinkets surmised as worthy of love.
Teaching boys in jail cells how to
think for themselves,
a pocket dialogue.
And I discovered I love education
and now I am cutting my teeth
chopping and rubbing
to be someone new.
:iconallicat17:allicat17 0 0
Archaic Bust of John Wayne's Torso
"It's just a thing. Immense in its chewing and spitting, it does not say what it means. "
- Sigmund Freud
It is myself in every direction,
Red rock shadow across John Wayne's face, this stationary wall clock killer.
And even if the statue fathers say:
"change your life."
I don't even have arms, and can't be told what to do.
Anyway who documents the chicken's crossing of the road but another chicken?
it's chickens all the way down, except for John Wayne. There it's stone,
and that's where I am.
A rough patch on the razor at noon, we smolder handkerchief jelly.
John Wayne and I sit without arms,
Rock, clock, the logic of a poem between us like lunch.
And he understands that hula hoop lunch clock they call time like I understand spit, which is to say he doesn't according to Freud.
We let it make ladies of us according to the cycle of ovulation, the swinging red mountain, mesa, expands and contracts and once again the natives are dying,
Which is myself,
I am not native here.
I do not have
:iconallicat17:allicat17 0 0
When you find a form that can't
be anything
You appreciate it for what it
can not be.
On the train, a singing woman anticipates the breaks,
a marine with soft hair tucks her backpack under the seat-
these are not metaphors- little living rooms, clear as paint strokes under sheath of green light.
you smell the couches
with your fingers on greased glass, waiting for the ticket ticker little flicker halogen.
I do not understand the limitations of my youth,
these are bread crumbs in my pocket lining.
I do not understand, the woman singing in a small corn husk voice,
It is a voice afraid for children.
She stands, but does not exit the train,
maybe that's a poem.
:iconallicat17:allicat17 3 2
Slow Curse
Lately I have had trouble defining my body.
Like a pin-poked water balloon
my substance becomes everything else.
If I were to tell you that I am not listening because my feet are dripping into the gravel of the pavement
because my lips are burning peeling skin
Maybe you wouldn't laugh when I trip on the third stair
or my eyes linger on your face while we are eating lunch.
Lately I have had trouble defining time.
I origami my age, folding it in half and then thirds
until I am an infant crying on the steps of your apartment building.
When you walk me round the quad, the air a gentle fist
Who is this shaking newborn in your arms?
Lately I have had trouble defining love
You gave me your phone number at a party and said "call me"
So I did.
:iconallicat17:allicat17 1 0
A New Year's poem
We celebrate the fact
Colors and shapes shift
Every year until
They become
:iconallicat17:allicat17 0 0
Dream of the Grenadine Engine
I live safe on everyone's land.
My passport says: young white wanderer, female.
so my exile is a privilege.
Exile is a privilege
Patti sings, "privilege set me free" so I
fly through the airports,
past the thick dark hands
past the potted ferns and
perfume counters oppressively whispering "have a nice day, have a nice day, have a nice day" to the dream of flooded marble floors.
The grenadine engine purrs in pools of water soft as moon whispering
"stay close, stay close."
:iconallicat17:allicat17 0 0
Faded politics peeling from body like dead skin I
aim to be a nighthawk
isolated but similar
alone and halogen boxed
to stave off the context add
one red dress and filter to burnt.
Searing the sundress, dry under film at 350 degrees Celsius; window clearly ensues.
The potential is smashed with one movement of the hand- to rub out, kill, restart- to search for new land. I have wandered apron the Idea that there is no new land, sleeping on an Island of bottles and cans that is new like my own new ideas- new land-
The Illubriant and wealthy insist- liberal arts- (liberal being the central concern) –hand reaches for bellybutton, pulls off belly.
Spending too much time indoors, my mother sends me a carton of milk,
"good for your bones."
"Foundational garments."
When I am feeling sexual I watch public access television; easy access.
Stone cold fox.
Nobody sings to the girl with red hair;
In a private moment she turn her memory-card in to public access television,
We all have our
:iconallicat17:allicat17 0 0
Terra Nova
Halfway between where I was and where  I had to be there was a thin
Twelve people at both ends trying to be somewhere
Halfway between where we were and where we had to be they said
"designated territory"
stop the presses.
Lines of people at both ends trying to be somewhere
Halfway between where we were and where we had to be they had
Already made arrangements
Twelve bystanders
Stop the presses.
Moved the rope from our side to yours
coin toss
we all squat.
Halfway between where we are and where you are there is a thin
designated territories
Stop the presses.
Twelve people at both ends trying to be somewhere
Twelve people
Three cops
Two lawyers
And a reporter
Trying to be somewhere
Now we are us and you are them
Designated territories.
Lines of them at both ends trying to be somewhere
Stop the presses.
Halfway between where you are and where you want to be there is a thin
I am on one end and you are on the other
We both squat with
:iconallicat17:allicat17 2 1


couldn't blue
i draw a picture of
tomorrow morning:
a man in a silver box sells
75 cent coffee and bad bagels.
his shirt is the kind of blue no one ever
tried to name a crayon after.
dust-plastic blue,
tried to love you
and the morning is that same color,
the color of canned lightning-bugs and
unfiltered cigarettes and desire,
because that is all you
draw with couldn't blue.
i pay him 1.25 in change and purse-lint
so that a fourth-world factory can make more
silver boxes to sell more things
more stale blueberry muffins.
and he will keep gathering change
in 75 cent purse-lint increments
in the small sinking townships of
all the couldn't blue mornings.
and he will keep gathering the
ugly colors of
another side of desire
and he will wear those colors
on a shirt
those colors no one
liked enough
to name.
:iconaquarius-claire:Aquarius-Claire 339 117
HERMITAGE by MisterCr3w HERMITAGE :iconmistercr3w:MisterCr3w 4 0 FEET OF SMOKE by MisterCr3w FEET OF SMOKE :iconmistercr3w:MisterCr3w 1 0 DAEDALUS by MisterCr3w DAEDALUS :iconmistercr3w:MisterCr3w 4 0
we are growing
apart and i keep on losing
notebooks. it takes a lot
of nights looking out
of windows to be
whole with
the television bleeds
out tomorrow. i string
today onto
a necklace i break
the necklace.
how hard to forget,
how easy it is to be
forgotten. i don't
know how or even if
this plays out
in the real world, how we
can simultaneously
and be forgotten.
or maybe i am just
a broken
necklace on the
sidewalk, my
beads rolling under
cars into gutters
and pale sky,
my notebook pages
running with ink.
:iconaquarius-claire:Aquarius-Claire 22 4
radio transmission
stale air transmitted radio spectrum
of you, a pale newspaper growing
viral in my bloodstream.
forgot to fall asleep again,
caffeine drip so the hours will
stay inside the hours. muster up
the strength to turn a page to lift
a pen to open my eyes, voices drift
and land in piles on my windowsill.
metric shift inside the
place that was you,
the currents span
the length of a circuit,
will not surrender.
:iconaquarius-claire:Aquarius-Claire 11 3
Kafka on the shore by fdrawer Kafka on the shore :iconfdrawer:fdrawer 7 14 unspoken truths by equivoque unspoken truths :iconequivoque:equivoque 236 32 Grow by Erica-Jay Grow :iconerica-jay:Erica-Jay 159 60 V. Wolfe by QueenBee47 V. Wolfe :iconqueenbee47:QueenBee47 7 1 Things I found the other day by derkert Things I found the other day :iconderkert:derkert 36 20 Information by derkert Information :iconderkert:derkert 29 28 ID Rita Lino by DonaRita ID Rita Lino :icondonarita:DonaRita 14 3 C by DonaRita C :icondonarita:DonaRita 57 3 factoryoverload by revolta factoryoverload :iconrevolta:revolta 1 7 NEW MOONS OF SATURN by MisterCr3w NEW MOONS OF SATURN :iconmistercr3w:MisterCr3w 1 1


  • Listening to: Deertick
  • Reading: the Electric Coolaid Acid Test


allicat17's Profile Picture
Artist | Student | Varied
United States
In some silent state of ever-gathering
I rest.


Add a Comment:
fdrawer Featured By Owner Oct 25, 2011  Professional General Artist
thanks for the fav! =D
Erica-Jay Featured By Owner Aug 9, 2011  Student Traditional Artist
Thanks for the fave! :)
allicat17 Featured By Owner Aug 17, 2011  Student General Artist
thanks so much!
derkert Featured By Owner Aug 4, 2011
Thank youfro the favs Allison. Like your name – has a sort of romantic tinge to it. Really!
allicat17 Featured By Owner Aug 4, 2011  Student General Artist
thanks back to you! how so?
derkert Featured By Owner Aug 5, 2011
some book I read, I think!
genkaku-kun Featured By Owner Jul 8, 2011  Student Traditional Artist
interesting gallery
allicat17 Featured By Owner Jul 8, 2011  Student General Artist
thanks, it's an odd mix. I like your way of combining real and abstract.
apple-dark Featured By Owner Jun 10, 2011  Professional Writer
Thank you for the :+fav: and the watch! :)
Aquarius-Claire Featured By Owner Apr 3, 2011  Student Writer
I totally just stalked all of your deviations. You're awesome.
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