transient stars

The sky is blue and the grass is green,
everything's cool.

west coast dreams

And all the children are insane,

all the children are insane

Waiting for the summer rain, yeah

(Source: Spotify)

What moves lives. What is said endures. There’s nothing in life that’s less real for having been well described. Small-minded critics point out that such-and-such poem, with its protracted cadences, in the end says merely that it’s a nice day. But to say it’s a nice day is difficult, and the nice day itself passes on. It’s up to us to conserve the nice day in a wordy, florid memory, sprinkling new flowers and new stars over the fields and skies of the empty, fleeting outer world.