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Oregon Trail Is the Oregon Trail


Oregon Trail Is the Oregon Trail Cover

ISBN13: 9780983026365
ISBN10: 098302636x
Condition: Standard
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Synopses & Reviews

Publisher Comments:

Poetry. Loosely or not so loosely based on the iconic computer game The Oregon Trail, THE OREGON TRAIL IS THE OREGON TRAIL chronicles the journey of a family on their way out West. Along the way, they fight dysentery, a racist Mel Gibson, syphilis, and consumption while learning that letting go is sometimes easier than starting over. Read the book, play the game, and never welcome the small pox welcome wagon. We have done bad things, and we will pay for them.

About the Author

Gregory Sherl is the author of HEAVY PETTING (YesYes Books, 2011), THE OREGON TRAIL IS THE OREGON TRAIL (Mud Luscious Press, 2012), and Monogamy Songs (Future Tense Books, 2012). His poetry has appeared in Columbia Poetry Review, Gargoyle, Redactions Poetry and Poetics, New Delta Review, and PANK.

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chadredden, May 27, 2012 (view all comments by chadredden)
Dear The Oregon Trail is The Oregon Trail,

You left my bones to sun at the river. I tried to keep up on The Oregon Trail, Oregon Trail. I tried. I prepared. Before our trip, I skinned all the stray cats I could find, because stray cats were all I could find to skin. There are no wild animals here. There are stray cats. I took their pelts and shaped them into a bear. I skinned the bear and wore the new pelt. You told me the trail was too hot to wear a bear pelt. I wore nothing underneath. I wore only the bear pelt. I traded my clothes for 20 rusty bullets. I traded my rifle for 20 rusty bullets. I thought bison would be slow enough to screw the bullets into their hearts. They look slow in drawings. I practiced on drawings of bison. I thought I was ready for The Oregon Trail, Oregon Trail. I did.

Who owns the rivers? I want to complain about their frequency and color. There are too many. They are too green. We must fjord them every page - even when the pages are between pages. Who designed the rivers? They work against us. They should make us lightweight. Why are your full of rivers of sex? Why doesn't the sex make us lightweight? Why doesn't the sex flow from shore to shore instead of north to south? Why am I not full of sex? Even the oxen are full of sex. Even the bullets are full of sex. Oregon Trail, you remind me everything in the world is full of sex, even if everything is in 2D.

I started leaking after a river. I'm sorry, Oregon Trail, I can only remember a river not which river, because The Oregon Trail is full of rivers. I started leaking. I think I slept on a rusty bullet. It screwed itself inside me. It missed the practice of bison drawings. I missed the practice of bison drawings. I started leaking and this continued long past the burials of children #3 and #5. I started losing teeth. The heat had something to do with it. I started with 29 and then with each river they became loose. My bones have 7 teeth. That is not enough to eat bison. This may be why I am bones too.

I did not know there were so many bees on The Oregon Trail, Oregon Trail. When I started losing my teeth, the bees found my throat. They stung. They made hives and honey. We moved so fast in the wagon. We moved so fast and when the air moves fast against my face I can't breathe through my nose. I must keep my mouth open to breathe. I became full of bees. You couldn't tell, because after a certain point you thought I was just a bear along for the ride. You didn't bother me because you thought I was talented bear and could haul many pounds of bison. You thought I was a talented bear who thought I could screw bullets into bison. Or, you knew bears were limited and knew only of bullets, but not guns. I should have spoken more, but I was full of bees. I am glad you didn't trade me to the bankers from Boston for new children and bullets. I know you wish you would have now that I am bones.

Oregon Trail, there is so much world within you. You showed me The Oregon Trail on a map. It looked like a river. It moved northish so we went against the current. Did we move uphill? Why did gravity make things more difficult? Was it because we left home and home puts a hook in us and pulls until we make a new home and call it home so that the new home puts a hook in us and asks the old hook to `please, release this person from your gravity'? Or, was it because I wore a bear pelt and the trail was too hot for a bear pelt made of cat pelts and I truly dressed for the wrong century for this trip?

I wish we could be other greens. I wish my bones were other greens. I wonder what your face looks like in 3D, Oregon Trail.
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Product Details

Sherl, Gregory
Mud Luscious Press
General Poetry
Poetry-A to Z
Novel(la) Series
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Fiction and Poetry » Small Press » Poetry

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