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



"While my conscience explodes"... (Dylan, 1966)

"We sit here stranded, though we’re all doin’ our best to deny it.”

The lyrics peer around the corners in the passageways.

July pollen dances on unseen blankets of gusts.

The locusts announce the evening’s onset.

"Lights flicker from the opposite loft."

Is sung slowly against the canvas of it all.

All but 30 minutes remain of the dry stillness.

It’s fading…“But there’s nothing, nothing really to turn off."
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