What is ‘wasting time’?

I wonder if every crack in the pavement 

has a purpose 

or if accidents are made divine 

afterwards, 

like Van Gogh’s potato eater’s chin 

or the trail of a jet across a blue sky? 

A woman saw Jesus in toast, 

one thought Buddha conducted the river 

like Mickey Mouse in Fantasia. 

I don’t deny a former craving for answers 

but confess 

now I prefer how things fall together 

or apart 

in ways that look nice from a distance 

real or imagined.