on the toilet – the vast void

On the toilet (whitefella magic) or The Vast Void.

pooloosh'n

poolooting the dreaming

When whitefella goes to the toilet

he disappears through a secret door

into a four cubic metre airlock

between existence and the Vast Void.

This is whitefella magic. By agreement

he’s ceased to exist.  He has walked

off the edge of existence and no one

left alive mentions anything about it

and no one even says his name,

except with respectful, half-averted eyes,

embarassed, and only if they really have to.

Until he gets back he doesn’t exist

while, over the porcelain hole in existence

he hangs his bum, over the void, not existing,

beyond truth, he does(n’t) shit, he does(n’t).

tea cups clink politely, here where it’s real.

while he carefully wipes out the evidence

with paper that’s spoken of only

in baby-soft, trustworthy, pastel-colour,

delicate tones, wet-strength.

Whitefella then flushes with a toxic bleach-

scented niagra of foaming blue-brightness

denial, and puts the lid back down and goes

back through the door to exist again.

This is a complex situation. Wombat thinks it’s dangerous,

shakes his head, goes on with his lawn-mowing, but thinks

“this whitefella putting holes in the skin of the Dreaming

to shit through, might be dangerous…”

One thought on “on the toilet – the vast void

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