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authorCase Duckworth2015-04-14 18:09:55 -0700
committerCase Duckworth2015-04-14 18:09:55 -0700
commit08fd8e95dccb91d0495a50d1009f85cb80cfad65 (patch)
tree9accf8a6e9b1f836e3c7c7b5437d11351545a07e /deathstrumpet.html
parentChange file hierarchy and rewrite makefile (diff)
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1<!DOCTYPE html>
2<!-- AUTOCENTO OF THE BREAKFAST TABLE -->
3<!-- vim: fdm=indent
4-->
5<html lang="en">
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8<meta name="generator" content="pandoc">
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10<meta name="author" content="Case Duckworth">
11
12<title>Death’s trumpet | Autocento of the breakfast table</title>
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22</head>
23<body id="deathstrumpet" class="elegies">
24
25<article class="container">
26<header>
27<!-- title -->
28<h1 class="title">Death’s trumpet</h1>
29
30
31<div class="header-extra">
32
33<!-- epigraph -->
34<div class="epigraph">
35<a href="http://michaelduke.org/2014/07/20/larry-levis-boy-in-video-arcade/"><p>So Death plays his little fucking trumpet. So what, says the boy.</p></a>
36
37<div class="attrib">Larry Levis</div>
38</div>
39</div>
40</header>
41
42
43<section class="content verse">
44<p><span class="line">He didn’t have any polish so he spit-shined the whole thing</span><span class="line">until it gleamed like a <a href="wallpaper.html">tomato on the vine</a> that was begging</span><span class="line">to be picked and thrown on some caprese. Death loved caprese.</span></p>
45<p><span class="line">He stood up to put the horn to his lips, trying to imagine</span><span class="line">it was a woman he loved. He blushed as he realized how bad</span><span class="line"><a href="leaf.html">the metaphor was</a>. He practiced anyway for six hours a day</span><span class="line">in front of the mirror—what else to do with all the time?</span></p>
46<p><span class="line">Death looked at <a href="moongone.html">himself in the mirror</a> as he played, the trumpet</span><span class="line">suspended in midair. <em>Damn vampire rules</em>, he thought.</span><span class="line">He was always worried he might have <a href="january.html">missed a spot</a> while shaving</span><span class="line">but he’d never know unless a stranger—he had no friends—</span><span class="line">was kind enough. Not that he goes out anyway or meets people.</span></p>
47<p><span class="line">He started waking up late, staying in bed later.</span><span class="line">He started thinking he was depressed. He never did eat</span><span class="line">that caprese, and it started getting soggy, green spots</span><span class="line">spreading on the mozzarella like bedsores. The sun</span><span class="line">filtered through the <a href="what-we-are-made-of.html">kitchen blinds like smoke</a>. He had</span><span class="line">to get out of the house. He decided to go to the arcade.</span></p>
48<p><span class="line">When he got there, it was empty except for a boy</span><span class="line"><a href="big-dipper.html">with dead eyes</a>. So far so good, Death thought.</span><span class="line">He was playing a first-person shooter, something violent.</span><span class="line">Death walked past him and watched out of the corner</span><span class="line">of his eye. The kid was good. Death decided</span><span class="line">to congratulate him. He had his trumpet in his hand.</span></p>
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61title="Previous article in Elegies for alternate selves">
62To Daniel: an elaboration
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