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8/6/2019 In Search of a Song Volume 350
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POEMSBY
REGGIEWYCHE
8/6/2019 In Search of a Song Volume 350
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POEMS-BY
REGGIEWYCHE
AWaterways ProjectPublicationRichard SpiegelBarbara Fishercodirectors
Thomas Perryadministrative assistant
Jonathan Shapiroteacher
Lower Eastside PrepVincent Maniscalco
principal, i.a.Stephen E. Phillipssuperintendent
Alternative High Schools &Programs1997 Ten Penny Playerswith funding support from
the NY State Council on the Arts
8/6/2019 In Search of a Song Volume 350
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ChallengerI look in his eyes at the top of the key,Flatfooted shorty trunks he can guard me.I sail to his left and then whip to his right,I leave him behind, I ease into flight.Starting to slide, I charge for the goal,I slaughter his ego with a nice finger roll.
RejectionThese little lay-up kids must be insane,They're trying to violate my domain.Don't bring it in here: It's flying back out.Rejection's what it's all about.I live for the block, I crave it. I need it.You put it up here, I'll make you eat it.
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ParanoidEvery single person is staring on this train.They look and look away-messingwith my brain. . .They mutter under their breath
about how I smell.They give secret glances-they laughed
when I fell.They radio cops, they go throughmy pockets.
They're stealing my money andall of my chocolates.
What's this guy staring at- I didn't do nuthin'One more time-I'm gonna have to snuffhim.
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LightheadedI sit back in my chair, and I'm frozen in time.I can't move or speak, that voice isn't mine.I'm watching myself go get a cold beverage.I need twenty minutes to regain my leverage.There's some kind of gap between thought
and motion.I feel very light, like I'm out in the ocean.I ask for some nachos-but my words don't come.I'll just watch that stain 'till it's time to go home.
FriedI'm pointing to a stain no one else can see.That mannequin in the mirror really
looks like me.I lay in the dark, dreaming of lightI'm definitely gonna be here all night.I can't understand a word anyone's sayingthey're leaving-I'm floating-I think that
I'm staying.My fingers are clenched and my toes are
all curled.I don't recall when I fell off the world.4
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. Barely ConsciousThe bathroom's so far and my hands are so hot."Help me up," I either said or thought.I think I'm on my feet-How'd I get
the strength to stand?I feel no contact between the wall and my hand.I move my head and the whole earth slides.I gaze emptily through watery eyes.
FightYou're gonna lose all your upper body feeling.On your ass so fast your fleas will be reelingI'll rock you in the face stab your heart withya noseboneJack your lungs so hard you can only breathe
Ozone.I'm gonna set you so nurses are checking you.You gonna feel like Mike Tyson is decking you.You say you're sorry-I don't buy it.I'll check your ass like a looter in a riot.
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Run
The sirens wail loudly, The lights reflectall over.Three men jump out of a dark land rover.
We pack up, zip up, lace up and go.running from the five, running from the O.Some heads run one way, some duck
in stores,I've got sweat from evety one of my pores.Convinced of my story, I've been here
all night.God, but I hate New York's blue-and-white.
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PsychoThere's ten too many voices that speak
everydayThe voices- in our head- since the fifteenth
of MayEchoing, chanting, and moaning and such,Some voices speak English, a couple speak
DutchI call me Bobby and I call me Ace.There's a village of midgets behind our
green face.We voted last Sunday to buy a few pigeons,I'm glad I'm not the one who makes
the decisions.Maybe I can get a ride with Johnny
the car king.There's a lot of us in here, and not that much
parking.
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ForgotI think I soldmy soul not too long ago.I don't remember who I sold it to, though.How much did I get, did I already spend it?'Cuz there's no way inheck that I'm
independent.When did this happen, what was I thinking?I musta been drunk. I musta been drinking.Deny it, but it happened, I'll find out I guess,to whom I am promised, this sure is a mess.
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In Search of a SongVolume 350~ " " " 7 " " ' ' ' 1 ' ' ' ' ' ~ ~ ' J - - ' - . . . , . ~
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