THE HIDDEN TRACK

The following passages are dedicated to Leopold, to the vernacular, to certain evil women (you know who you are), to certain wonderful people(they know who they are), to soft afternoons and quiet Sunday evenings, to Fall and seeing your breath for the first time since Spring, and to Isabelle Ya Feng ... a soul slipped by like two ships passing in the still, moonlit sea.
-- Abraham Ahmed, the Surfing Beatnik



Upon a Darkend Road Between Ipswich and Ansdover...


Awoken shapes like giant apes hang motionless in trees.
Darkened shadows, stirring sad woes, pressing passersby to flee.

The treetops rustle causing every muscle to tighten and to shake.
For, it is the unseen - the fiends of dreams - that stirs the mind awake!

Decisions fade at options weighed, and tingles attack the spine.
"Granted," says the man in hopes to understand, "perhaps it's only the wine!"

Though, the horse hoof pounds muffle the sounds, and all's though to be in the head,
Many'a'coach traversing similar such roads has often turned up dead.

y
ou see, the woods at night cause travelers' sights to create that which isn't there.
Yet, all too often, when caution's forgotten, these shapes shall attack like bears.

"...Leopold, Leopold, Leopold"  

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