on the back of a lennon song

(mystical stone at the pond)

black truck with insect eye
on
trying to outfuck the sun.
today, everyone's wearing black.
yesterday two splashes of orange chased
across the sky in tight orbit w/asphalt backdrop.
i think i don't have enough trouble
with language as if words had meaning
the outline of legs in red on the toilette seat
yesterday's stain still in the sink tho
i forgot it , still there o solopsist, it can't
be all subconscious these
are matter. they matter. like a fist fists.
how can you be less than a note of ash beside the bath

wheni take back my name, what will metaphor become?

if i sound like a sage, laugh
if i intone
the truth lasts long as the sound from a gong