I was born to malinger.
I plan my days carefully
to allow time for nothing.
It requires effort
to avoid work.
Hemingway said that
all stories extended
far enough in time
must end in death.
Eternity is vast
and waits patiently.
I have seen what
comes of too much hurry:
a cloud of falling debris,
a puff of pink mist
where a man used to be.
I would rather stay
a shiftless old monk
for as long as I can,
just sitting, doing nothing,
trying to be better,
content to be me.

  ~mce