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



With Light Slipping from under a Door...

It's rather difficult to describe: the smell of her cheek, the taste of her ear, the warmth of her breath.

Between the her ribs and her hips, her waist dips in lines created by a painter of great knowledge of shape.

She pulls her hair from her eyes and squints at me in the dim light from the window.

People converse and laugh in a nearby kitchen, but their existence is nonexistence.

She speaks into my ear.
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