The Art of Idleness

In Tuscany mastering the art of idleness

The crickets work hard making music

For the trees to sway to

But it’s all the same to me

I’m just sitting watching the breeze

Sipping beer and dipping into conversations

Walked a mile for cigarettes

And then lay by the lake

Listened as Car Seat Headrest made melodies

With the sounds of the forest

Cooking steak al fresco

With melted Gorgonzola

Said hi to Stefano

The quiet guardian of the campsite

Watched the clouds

Lazily climb the sky

What would it take to find perfect rest?

What would it take to let it all go?

‘There no such thing as perfection,

Fuck the Buddha,’ Susan said,

‘You’ve had your fun,

Now it’s our turn.’