Reality stomping,
reminding me of my oppression.

I slip away.
Into the audible jazzy drizzle,
by someone long down the road.

The tempo tells me,
that it’s time to move on,
but then says wait.

I pause a moment longer,
backward glance until procession.

The streets in my imagination,
a watercolor menagerie of brown, tan tones.
Some lights are on and the rain is softening.

Moving forward,
watch the cat,
indifferent to me,
“indifferent to thee”,
I smile.

Blue fluorescence,
many shadows.
Cymbals as I step,
horns moving on.