I can't go on flying apart just for those who want the benefit of a few verbal kicks. My God, do you know what poems like that cost? They're not written vicariously: they come out of actual suffering, real madness.
What falls away is always. And is near.
Live in a perpetual great astonishment.
And I walked, I walked through the light air; I moved with the morning.
By daily dying, I have come to be.
A mind too active is no mind at all.