Will you stop for a while, stop trying to pull yourself
               together
for some clear “meaning”—some momentary summary?
                no one
can have poetry or dances, prayers or climaxes all day,
               the ordinary
blankness of little dramatic consciousness is good for the
               health sometimes,
only Dostoevsky can be Dostoevskian at such long
               long tumultuous stretches;
look what that intensity did to poor great Van Gogh!;
               linger, lunge,
scrounge and be stupid, that doesn’t take much centering
                of one’s forces;
as wise Whitman said “lounge and invite the soul.” Get
                enough sleep;
and not only because (as Cocteau said) “poetry is the
                 literature of sleep”;
be a dumb bell for a few minutes at least; we don’t want
                  Sunday church bells
                  ringing constantly.