“Yes. And the rocket’s glare: the red gash through and across impenetrable immutable sky; and the bombs which not burst but flowered, unfolded silently releasing their very bombness and explodidity in the very firmament, air, which itself in its implacable and tangible reality gave not proof but irrefutable incontrovertible notproof through the long inevitable and implacable night that it was, still, in fact and theory an inexorable reality, there, as if experience and ratiocination and unbelief obviated the very sense and sentience and not-sentience and non-sense that its own obverse could even exist, be, and he: “—O, say! Does it then? Does it??” —and the other “—Does what?” and he: “Does that star-spangled for it must be spangled for its very spangledness obviates its own incomprehensible not-spangledness” and the other “—yes?” and he: “—banner, ribbon, avatar of its intractable bannerness, still, yet, indeed, wave—”

# posted by Gerry Canavan @ 10:46 AM  |