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ALLAN JOHNSTON Attacking Solipsism with Flour Tortillas I leave a trail of whiteness, the flour leaking out of my hand on the dark grain of the wooden counter a bestrewal of stars Milky Way strange constellations And with water and another hand, foment a world one gooey, pasty ball por las tortillas de la masa harina My English acquaintance called it "flaw." I say "flour," naming the name of all that blooms, scouring the vowel, a rounded mouth murdering English English, pistil tongue ululating beneath teeth, thereby bringing name to the Humean flaw of perception created on table tops via these shifty sifted trails I now call con- stel- lations; estes panes calientes, a knowledge of hunger, a beasty feast, yeasty or unleavened what of these grains, too fine to discern except en masse, vision or creation? What of perception? I defy solipsism: a quick, hard rolling! A pin! A hot pan!
---ABOUT ALLAN JOHNSTON---
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poetryREPAIRs: Concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; resort, frequent or habitual going; making one's way; to arrive; to dwell; to heal, to cure, to recover; to renew; (AND!) to fix to original condition - Oxford English Dictionary.
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