The Small Town of Gates, Oregon - Poem

The Small Town of Gates, Oregon

There's a highway
That runs
Through my little hometown
There's an art walk
And a restaurant
But no one slows down

The people just mill
(Used to work at one too)
There's no blacks, no Japs
No wops and no Jews
And they like it that way...

They're like cardboard cutouts
At the end of the day -
All made up of paper
Of varying weight
From the trees they cut down
And the nature they raped

The colors are there
But dimension is not
They bitch about faggots and
Grow their own pot and
When the alcoholic night falls
And familiar stunted shadows cry...
They pause and ask why
Ol' Red had to die
At a shooting
At a family
Fish fry...

--Eric Marley
March 4, 2014

On Your First Birthday After Our Last Split (for April)

On Your First Birthday After Our Last Split (for April)

your hard-headedness
plus my unconsciousness
divided by time i guess
equals zero

zero for you
zero for me
zero for the kids
in our stillborn family
zero for fun
in the Mexican sun
zero for healing
and poetry.

--Eric Marley
March 4, 2014