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



Homage to Desire...

The record cracked and popped as smooth as any velvet.
I sat low in the chair and allowed my legs to splay.
An open window, a thought, a cigarette although bent.
I searched the outside from the inside of my tolerated day.

A hand to my chin, another to my knee.
Confidence in friends kept so high on a shelf.
"I'll neither succumb nor fold nor content just to be!"
Says I to the one who'll listen to me: myself.

I'll pack up a bag and take what I'll need.
"Leave all the shit to wither, rot and rust!"
The shallow pond of belongings kept light for speed.
Entertainment provided by intuition, science and trust.

The hillside was steep but my footing was true.
I heading East until the sun lit the path no more.
At the twelve o'clock azimuth I set for you...
I saw you playing my record on an Eastern shore.

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