Shadow Man

In your filthy street
splashed with black ooze
his eyes reflect
the darkness of your souls.
As you drive by chatting
Distractedly, fiddling with the knobs,
he waits outside.  He can't come in.
Excluded to make the exclusive,
the truth in the lie,
receiving your offer
of kindness and neglect,
detecting you, inspecting you
for a greater mind cast on the outside.
Your convenient despairs
your momentary causes,
pause as you check your hair,
he's standing there
eyes full of the inner light.
You don't look past his shoes.
No denouement, no resolution,
just the clock, bastard child of the church
forging your collar with each tick.
Spading your hole with each tock.
With dry, dangling tongues,
loping after the cars before you,
keeping in front of those behind
he's there as you realize.
He's there as it dawns
too late for the light
to reflect anything of note.
He turns his collar to the cold
and walks into the shadows
as you run into your graves.