Smell of a Dream 

Solid unforgiving probes attempt exploration deep within forgotten memories.  Viable frameworks may better support even yesterday’s explorations.

But who knows the words of yearning and who language of the dream?  Almost familiar is this tortuous teasing of the tongue, but ears agonize for the memory left behind.

Love songs and novels no longer express our passion-- inadequate bubble-gum expressions of cootchy--coo.  Words name not image, but image knows these words--crude expression consented as means of touching moments undefiled by open eyes.   Concession?  Yes, and condescension, for noble still is yesterday exploding fresh into today’s tears.

Mike Akana 
April 1998