i was driving home, just now under the ambitious moon.
i creep silently down my gravel road, the engine killed,
usually some pink floyd playing
(in college my nickname was pinky cause i loved flood,
and my middle name is floyd)
and nothing hurries, within me.
around the fourth corner, i stop.
shadow is in the road.
and he aint gettin up.
he's earned his rest, and,
though i've been through 10 hours of predawn
engineering followed by 8 hours
of technical tree work,
just waiting for shadow
to exhaust his idle position.
the moon is on our side.
it glides so slowly that shadow
needn't hurry across landscapes.
so i get out of the beat up truck
which monthly yanks anxious dollars outta my rockstar wallet...
and walk up and sit next to shadow.
i don't say nothing.
because what do you say to a shadow?
i'd like to know his story.
like what's between him and the light.
i don't ask, though.
i just sit in the dark and listen.
eventually the shadow, he gets up
and limps off according to his own crooked gait,
and i sit a while longer.
except for the wild iris that leans
towards the weak moon-gleam.
i finish unstarted thoughts.
and i realize that life just aint
right without a drinking problem.
im alright, with everything.
love. hate. trust. fear. even dying aint got my attention.
im studying to improve my shadow.
it's lonely and incompetent and dodgy,
out there, always two or three strides beyond me.
it'll someday be a perfect shadow,
once i master that wretched object that stands between
it and the light.