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



The Facets of Anger…

With hands trembling and flushed cool and damp the stomach clinches tightly and sours leaving the lungs to gasp, faintly as it may, for air and replenishment.

The eyes struggle for clarity and see only hues of crimson as the throat, knotted and taut, eradicates every single trace of moist molecule from the cheeks and surface of tongue.

Stuttering speech - elevating in volume - expels feelings improperly formulated and judgment not meant for release.

Fix your thoughts on another person, place or thing if you can but do so in haste for at this moment you have fallen victim to anger and all her vices and she, without compassion for the weary, shall systematically reduce your days existing on this earth.

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