Good night 6 a.m.
From staying up way too late
From getting out of my bed as the sun
Comes down with my feet as they meet
The ground, the morning, reality
The first solid truth since I went to sleep
All those years ago comes to light in a
Lightless room in the morning of the
Afternoon as my feet come to meet
The ground, the afternoon, reality
Alive or just breathing?
Awake or still dreaming?
Is it morning or afternoon?
Am I late or is it soon?
The waking truth is that
At the centre of the clock is I
And at its rims is death
Circling without cessation
Ignorant of irrelevant time
He is waiting
For whom does the alarm bell toll?
I couldn’t care less;
I’m getting out of bed
Written for going to sleep at six in the morning and getting up at four in the afternoon.