Worth Of An Hour

From 5:19 to 6:19
Idle in bed
Drinking tea
Looking at the screen
Scribbling — or not
Eating a hot cross bun
Legs stretched under the duvet
I am warm

From 3:19 to 4:19
I was dreaming, half asleep
Thinking about getting up

From 7:19 to 8:19
I am walking on high bay
Lifting boxes
Dropping them on the belt
In freezing cold
Wearing jackets, boots, scarves
Hat, gloves, thermals
£10 an hour

From 1:19 to 2:19
I'd be doing the same
Hoping the hour ends

From 9:19 to 10:19
I'd be sitting in the dark
Drinking, smoking
Hoping time for sleep comes
Then bed

What is the worth of an hour
Not in what is done
Sitting, standing, lying down
Not in what is achieved
100 words or 1000 boxes
Not in money — 0 or £10
Not rest or exertion

Do I enjoy this hour
Or hate this hour
That is what matters
What else can ever matter

Am I awake — this hour
Awake to what I am
Or asleep, dreaming

Even while awake
I live in a made up world
Of fabricated places and times
Assuming fictional identities
Just as when I dream
Dreaming other worlds

Only in deep sleep am I awake
Only in death am I really alive
Who can be alive now —
This body living, pulsing, dying
Inching toward decay

It can't be alive
What then is alive
Appearance appears
And I am
Appearance can't reach I am

Looking outwards — countless mysteries
Looking inwards at the looker
Perceiving the perceiving
Being the perceiver —
Nothing
All empty
All a display
Of Unseen through Seen
No I between