Be still, the living and breathing of the night
Dark as the other side of one’s eyelid
And reflective as when I close them
Imagination is at once a flick of water off my hands into a large puddle
And a spark of friction stinging my fingers
At once, these ideas motivate my body to reach with rubbed palms
But too soon leave my foremost thoughts as if they no longer belonged
Let my next idea, then, move the mountains previous men chose to hike over
Part waves previous sojourners only waded in
Push margins past limits set by previous storytellers and experts in lyrical legerdemain
I maintain a tip-tap-toe and a nod
Keep the genius awake, I whisper
Water in one hand, keyboard in the other
Ego on one shoulder, audience in the other
The moon reflects its light on several apartments’ windows
In hopes it creates positive and equal reaction to what I transmit
Right now while I write now
Quietly disintegrate the hate I’ve absorbed
Detoxify the spirit
Cleanse first
Build next
Soft, click, clack, click, clack
I find new words, extract them from the sky
Hoping to inspire change every time I hit space …

Jose Vilson