TREE.volume 1. issue 4.

CONTENTS1 Divisible by TwoK Chico2 I Know What It's LikeMelissa Rocha3 What's PracticalChristopher Casuga4 Petal DreamsL.A. Johnston5 The CreatureWesley Golangco8 Unfinished PoemTanisha McClain9 Upon Close GraduationBright is the Brink of Sanity

Dima Medvedko10 Modern MarvelRachel De Vera11 There Is Magic In Your ArmsGina Vittore11 DistanceA Haiku for Ben BarnettLOLLERCOASTERKathleen Crippen

See Guys I Really Am ... 12Colt LaneyMama I wish 14Tanisha McClain

I erased the first line 15w.b.st.cAt My Own 16Rachel De Vera

Either... 17Devon Batey

Contributor Collage 18

To Merced:Merced comes alive in the summer. At least, I've always felt thatway. There's something about that daily see­saw­­that extreme,repeating, dry heat which balances against the pristinity of thenight­­which calls in an examination of ourselves. The poetJared Stanley once told his students, "Merced is the mostinteresting place you will ever live." I believe him. There is acritical point where the density of life interferes with our abilityto appreciate it, and be appreciated. Merced is a town forwriting, for elaboration, and for imagination.As the summer goes on, let our poetry grow and adapt. Seewithin elaborations, between lines, and consider just as theweather comes most temperate. The summer will see two moreissues of TREE, issues 5 and 6, mid­summer, and summer'send. I encourage any and all Merced artists to write, create,document, and scribble throughout the summer­­Submit toTREE. Your voice will be heard. Merced will change you.

WRITEYOUREXPERIENCE,­W.B.St.C

If you’d like to submit art, poems, ramblings, theses,photos, illegible scribbles, or handprint turkeys to the nextissue of TREE, please email Jordan Cowman at

jdcowman@gmail.com.TREE. editors

TREE.Editors

William Benjamin St. ClairJordan Cowman

Graphic DesignWilliam Benjamin St. Clair

Cover DesignUrsula Vasquez

TREE. Logo and CoBa AdMelissa Eisner

Justin DuckhamMarcia St. Clair

Ara CaseyOmar ChowaikiFrank Cowman

Loretta CashDenise Burkhardt

Jason LiskeAdam Trelatsky

Mike BurtonEleni Valas

...and everyone else whobacked TREE. on Kickstarter!

Special Thanks.

Tree Branches.Tree Branches are blogs, record labels, publications, web sites, musicians­­

anything culturally associated with Tree. Contact us if you would like to addyour project!

repetition.mobi ­ poetry blogconchandall.tumblr.com ­ poetry blogfacebook.com/nyxrecords ­ record labelseeseewriter.wordpress.com ­ poetry bloghungryfishpoetry.blogspot.com ­ poetry blog

1

Divisible by TwoThere is an entry in the diaryThat I kept on and off.From when I was 8."Ariel is 16. I don't have to liveanymore than that. I'm halfway done."When I was 16,I moved out of the family house,And walked the streets at night.But nobody killed me.Even though everybody said,That was the way to do it.But I was patient.Then you helped me save his lifeThe winter I was 20.I didn't know they made men like you.Now I'm afraid of dying.Because everybody saysThat death doesn't have a buddy system.Maybe I'm looking at it wrong.Maybe you're dessert.But now I don't wantTo leave the table.

K Chico

2

I Know What It's LikeI know what it's like to have somone's heart on a string,although their hearts were so shrivelled that even in their bestmoments they could not love me with joy or dignity. One ofthese times I was reading Madam Bovary and a line from it cutright through me. "She resented the happiness she gave him."I've known people about whom I've wondered that if I didn'tlove them, could anyone, and still I walked away. I know whatsit's like for someone to have my heart on a string, I have lost mywill completely. I have been led tenderly down the primrosepath to places where monsters hide. I have been devoured.Though I run from it all, though I look back on none of itkindly... it's been a really long time since then, years haveslipped away in total silence. I start to wonder these days is thatall there is? Could anyone ever accept me? Is it for everyone'sbenefit that I do my best to be a good mother, daughter, sister,friend and not take any more temporary excursions from mystraight path from cradle to grave? I have been sitting besidesomone many many times where music played with each wordthey said, where a poetic narrative was constantly running,unexpressed , of their utter perfection and then suddenly themusic is gone and I realize that everything I love about thisperson is all in my head. If that is all there is then I amdisappointed in myself for suffering the way I have. If that is allthere is then it is a good thing that I'll never have anotherchance... but if anyone asks me as my years alone grow longerand my life grows shorter at least I can say I know what it's like.

Melissa Rocha

3

What's PracticalVerse as but verse is a sticky situationStanding there, naked as birth and proud as an AmericanHis dong just flapping in the wind,It's just not practical to me.I can't acclimate my words to the weatherWithout a warm coat of musical pitchOr the fictive map to a destinationBut that's just me.I'm not comfortable in my own clothes anywaySquirming and writhing like a half­formed wormEscaping a cocoonShouting like "I CAN'T DO IT! I CAN'T BECOME A BUTTERFLY"But yes you can. The failure to succeed is still successIf failure is but only the act of inactivityAnd so many I know walk nude and free without care, without excuses,without a backing bandMaybe some day I will go solo, and free, and nude,not giving a care or caresBut for now, i'm putting on clothes.That's more practical.

Christopher Casuga

4

You speak of your pastHow each one pluckedPicked, pulled, peeledPetal after petalAnd not tenderly placed them aroundDid not press themDry themSave them for laterOr put them away for safe keeping.But your petalsI peel and peekAnd layer after layerDiscover the uncovered territoryThat exposesExplainsYou and yours.And I placeI PressI TenderlyPlace your petals between glassMount each petalSave each petalPlace each petal under my pillow

With hopes of petal dreams.And with each pluckThat pinches at those private placesI provide a sense of securitySecure a trustEstablish my honest to goodness trustIn you and yoursAnd allow you to peelAnd peek intoMy sealed placesThat I have saved for your keeping.

Petal Dreams

L.A. Johnston

5

The Man had eaten so much that day;so, so much it was impossible to tell how much exactly.But in his hazy memory he recollected his thoughts;several beer can chickens, a dozen juicy spicy hot linksand an entire vegetable platter that had been laid out to formthe words "Suck My Balls"He attempted to stand and steadied himself on the couch.It was night and the house was clean; not a scrap of food to beseen,a house so impossibly and impeccably clean for such a creature.And so he walked, he lumbered over to the Denny's across thestreet where he kicked the door open and broke it, got his footstuck in the glass and bled all over the floor until he finallyuntangled himself and limped over to the counter. He slammedthe counter and bellowed "THE GRANDEST SLAMPOSSIBLE!" and The Manager immediately understood; whilemost would expect a wry smile or playful wink to occur betweenthe two, there was nothing but a quiet and staunchunderstanding between the two of them; a special connectionbetween The Manager of a local Denny's and The Man whobroke the door of that Denny's.And so The Grandest Slam Possible was brought out onto thefloor and The People stopped eating and fell quiet to witnessthe spectacle; one dozen fried eggs, two dozen sausage links,three dozen bacon strips and four dozen buttery pancakes, allon an extravagant silver platter. The Man tucked a napkin in hisshirt, grabbed a fork and knife and ate like never before,scarfing down the meat and starch like it would never end and

The Creature

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wishing he could just live and breathe in a world of pancakesand sausage. He dropped the fork and mauled the food like asavage, swiping at it viciously like a lion and as he did so, ThePeople's smiles dropped, the Manager backed away at thehorror he brought into the world and everyone grew frightenedas The Man grew in size before their very eyes. His skinstretched and his clothes ripped as he ballooned rapidlyoutwards, knocking over glasses and plates and chairs andtables and decorative plastic plants. The Man kept eating andeating as The People fled, the restaurant resonating with thesound of his fat fingers clawing frantically at the metal platter.The People didn't dare look back; they just ran hysterically intothe night, like a banshee of death and disease had beenunleashed upon them.The Man finished his meal and sat for just a moment on thefloor, drenched in sweat and grease before letting out a deepand contented sigh.And then he vanished in an instant, like his body had beenstretched so thin and so expansively that it turned to dust anddisappeared.The next day, the streets lay barren and empty,The People too scared to come out of their homes.The sun rose for nothing that day.

Wesley Golangco

7

8

Unfinished PoemI lay my restless head in my handsBefore I let out that earth shattering primal scream.You look at me blankly and sayThat things are never quite as bad as they may seemI pour out my heartUnto a deaf and dumb earAnd though the pain consumes meAnd it tears me apartI cant keep it from you.You that makes me nash and weepYou that haunts my dreamsYou that once made me believethat true love actually existed.I am scorned and brokenMy wings will never flyI will sing no moreFrom my dry and battered soul.My eyes dim, my sight becoming jadedI am no longer that free flying spirit that you once knewI am a shell of that which I once hoped to beI am never what I wanted to beI was always a step behind.Time will never truly exist in this hell I call realityI will search endlessly for the unattainable.I will walk in circles and pass through the footstepsOf the girl I used to be.I will paint pretty pictures when I want to paint of bloodI will be dainty and sweetWhen I want to rip your eyes out.I will be the antithesis of everything you loveI will be the true meaning of everything that mattersI will lose myself only to be found by me as a strangerAnd all the while I’ll think of youI’ll whisper your nameAnd hope that eternity wasn’t too far for me to runIn order for you to catch me.

Tanisha McClain

9

Bright is the Brink of SanityBright is the brink of sanity,A soft abyss of cotton.Warm is the sea of vanity,A worthwhile life forgotten.A plunge into sweet oblivion,Embracing all that's worthless.Distractions flock by the millions,Diverge a life from purpose.Dim is the path of duty,A journey never ending.Hidden are virtues and beauty,Success is always pending.Oblivious sweetness of vanity,Deceptively pleasant yet caustic.A playful murder of sanity,An idiot turned an agnostic.I seek the end of my duty,Paid for in quiet and suffering.Searching for truth and true beauty,With my soul as an offering.

Dima Medvedko

UponCloseGraduationExhaustion,Sleepless nightsA struggleSee the lightbut no availA postureSitting downHunched overHitting keysReceiving gradesBelievingThat aheadAre restfulPeaceful daysOf happy restI struggleSleepless nightsExhaustionHitting keysReceiving gradesDima Medvedko

10

Modern MarvelYou can’t do this to me. Can’tcarve my curves into a marble goddesstake the hammer and thrust down,all your might stored at the tipcrackling and shattering the months we’ve built me upyou praised me in the early times, kissed the marble that gaveyour lips freedom to a world of words that never dare leakedfrom your lipscaressed my porcelain face in your palms, got lost and I’mtarnishedleft me to weather the weather because I became too heavy foryour shouldersyet, when the sun shines on me, you come back and dust metake the cloth of your old garb and melt the rust awayspeak to my deaf ears ­ about you, about mehow I shine so bright in the sunhow I’m beautiful enough to sit on a kings’ thronehow you made me and can shatter mehow I need to impossibly move my already hardened self toplease youwell, too late, I tipped over and was set free.

Rachel De Vera

11

There Is Magic In Your ArmsThere is magic in your armsI’m convinced.(See the Circle of Astonishing Transmutation! See Impossible Feats!)I step in and they disappear

mountains of pressureoceans of doubttides of longingzooming rush of adulthood that pushes and pulls and grindsand cuts and drains and burns me through and through.

But nojust your heartbeat, your smell, your magical arms, your breath.

poof!good as new.

Gina Vittore

DistanceWhy does six­hundredforty­five miles seem so farwhen driving in my car

A Haiku for Ben BarnettHelp a fangrrl outand make Kind of Like Spittinga thing again, pls.

LOLLERCOASTERHow many shittyhaikus can I write today...proximately three.

Kathleen Crippen

12

See Guys I Really Am a Horrible Poet, were Katie Around IWouldn't add S's to wor'ds and End Poems in a Random NamesJust to RhymeCrime rates must be on the rise if Main st. is littered with these guys,I hate to sound even remotely like a bigot,but as I put this pen to pad I promised to write it as I see it,and as you listen to my rhyme please try to keep in mind,that I of all men have no grounds to judge,YET If this group of MEN has made it to this side of the trackshe must have come into something that he usually lacks,I want no trouble tonight,we didn't come out here for a fight,but my temper tends to run hot,and insulting a young lady is a lesson I never forgot,Lately I have had this allergic reaction to almost everybody's action,I am tired of careless speech,but I don't know how to teach and like a child I lash out,What the hell is funny about a lady standing in front of a dumpster?I cannot stand the constant callousness to human plight,nobody even bothers to hide it from plain fucking sight,It started with a hatred,not for you but for me,When I lifted the veil of my numb,my manic facade started to come undone,I started seeking to train my mind as my thoughts fired ablaze,keeping my mind shrouded in haze,The more I silenced the thirstlistening past whatever came firstI started to understand the hate,As I clawed for an escape from this stateI hoped it would dissipate,but as it only became readily apparentI had to wonder if evil in humans is inherent,When you look around it's everywhere,not just in you and not just in me,Every expression of faith or American dreamcontains a grain of mockery,some stab at what has to be right.Now the company I once craved was athing that left me confused,all of my friend's are good people,they would do anything for anyone for nothingand never again bring it up,so why tell me why do I now leave the exchangewanting to demand that they change?

13

In a heated meeting of views she saidthat I cared to muchyet empathized so little,I only nodded but where I offered no words,I withheld every budding possible point of view,but along with my sobrietycame a search for some source of piety;since I now try to abstain from frivolous speechand none of the rhetorical avenues carried any weightI knew she was not the source of my hatebut the accusation stuck and for 24 hours I struggled.In a socially charged atmosphere I tried to relateand out came the hate,filled with disgust I needed to get out of here,now once again nothing is clear,Floating down a river,no metaphor here,quite literally falling behind on the merced river,unwilling to paddle with the rest of my troop,because this day has no place for me in the group,Mexican beer, distant joyous cheers,and broken phrases my twisted anxiety can turn into jeers,these were my opponents, my thoughts were our weapons,but back to the point,somewhere between longing for a joint and wandering off,I realized how my empathy muscle had accrued it's atrophy;to empathize takes more than knowing your fellow souls size,one must relate and in this incarnations hand lies a failure to understand,I see the answers to your problems,yet what appears to me as gargantuan Golemsis quickly answered with laughter by you,try harder or just do what everyone else does,BUT I CANT AND I WONT!!!!and understand each other we don't,but I swear to god I love you all,and I will ALWAYS pick you up should you fall,this isn't a breakup we will still share our Saturday night highsBut there are definitely some problems,and I needs to solve thems,It really is me and not you but goddammit if it isn't killing me still,by the way how is your mother Matt Hill?

Colt Laney

14

Mama I wishMama I wish I could tell you it would be magically be okay.With the wave of a wand I would turn back timeMake you spit up the word toxins poisoning your insides.With a flick of the wrist, help you unleash all the unshed tearsAll the self taught liesAll the night terrorsAll daydreams gone awryAll of your fearsVanquish all the side whisperersDefeat all your inner demonsKick the shit out of broken memoriesMama I wish I could be stronger for youAble to bear the burdenBuild up walls aroundAnd help you fly awayPut a glass box around my father, possiblyBuy you your own personal islandWhere you can be youWhere no enemies dare to treadWish I could love you unconditionally in personWish my heart didn’t break with the sight of your fadingWish that wishes and dreams and dreams came true.I wish…I wish…I wish…For youTanisha McClain

15

I erased the first lineI don't knowhow to feela river ofsmall blocksflows aroundmy bodyno slip conditionno slip conditionsmall blocksflow aroundmy bodyblack cubesaxes bluetumbling throughdark spacein liquidturbulenceforms shapesandunbeknownstfamiliarityspringsgushingspringsover myunfamiliarunfamiliarunfamiliarlife

splashescoolagainst myeyelidsprotectedbehind glass

behind glassI restprotectedeyelidssleepsleepw.b.st.c

16

At My Own

Iamanemptysardinetin,youarethewhole.Weusedtobefilledwithsalt,ourbodiestoomuchfortheworldbutnowthetimehaspassedandtheinchesofmymindswimawayfromusYouaremoistforme,butIamdry.IwanttodrinkfromyouagainandbelostintheseabutIwalkondrylandwiththehotsuntakingmeawayfromyouWewouldsweatunderthecoldstarsandwraparoundlikestarfishyourgripistight,butmineislooseninglikeawashedknotMyeyesusedtoseenewcolorwhenyou’dappearnowyourcolorshavefadedwiththebeatingoftrendsleavingyououtdated.Toovintageformytongue.Myeyesboredandwantingtoseethecolorsofpuresun.Wehaveburnedandcharredscarsoneachother.IfearthatIhavelefttoomanyredlinesacrossyouruntouchedskin.Itwasonlytouchedbymyfingers,ussosoft.SilkfromChinesecaterpillarspulledtotheirdeath.IpulledandpulledandpulledtillIwantednomoreofyouwhenisitmewhohasnotpulledonmyownfibersofnewnessandonlydipyouinfiremakingyouburnjustatthetipofmyfingersinsteadofturningmyhandaroundandpointingmyfingeratmyown

Rachel De Vera

17

EitherAccording to my calculationsOrWe all buy the farmOnce i removed the brainI knew i was on to somethingInnovative,Feeling it throb and extinguishIt was all so simple suddenly,I could see life rush backLike a chickletResponding to decapitation,The body can’t help but twitchAny more than i, a harvard manStudied in fieldsOf math, the world and clitorisHypothesized i could keep thisInside a jar forever insideSome fairy tale,Yet failed to carry the ten,Instead i burned the bodyHygienically and resumed myCunnilingus,My neuroimaged futurescape,And then i tagged the toeHere she lies, love of my lifeNumber eighteenOf the headless clutch.

Devon Batey

18

From left to right, top to bottom:Ben St. Clair, Devon Batey, Melissa Rocha, Christopher Casuga, TanishaMcClain, K Chico, Kat Crippen, Wesley Golangco, Rachel De Vera, DimaMedvedko, Gina Vittore, Colt Laney.

Thank You!