How many lives are inside you? 3 poems on the verge of sleep

Nighttime rush of lives
streaming through our minds
memories flood, blood-crush times
speed thru blinding years
spinning into the absent
centrifuge of whatever
seems to be passing
into the storm


whatever became of the
child in your mind who once imagined
dreams that are the same as night and day
(what died inside of you
that you still hide
from strangers
and your
reflection)
Peacefully





Exaclty at this time the moon betrays
your subtle promises
promises you never really meant
against the wet stone of a life you never
had
a life
you missed by a mile
for a simple distraction
that seemed
easier