Fix #5: Verse typesetting

Thanks to the pandoc-discussion thread at
<https://groups.google.com/forum/#!topic/pandoc-discuss/_JnTJnsSK3k>,
line breaks in verse have been converted to <span class="line">s,
which enables the CSS to style them with hanging indents, given
a too-small viewport.  This commit also includes a makefile edit to
reflect this change, and the Haskell source and executable of the
pandoc filter.

1 files changed, 6 insertions, 6 deletions

@@ -36,12 +36,12 @@
 
         
         <section class="content verse">
-            <p>Inside of my memory, the poem is another memory.<br />The air up here is thin, but the wind blows harder<br />than anywhere else I know. It threatens to rip<br />my body away, like <a href="angeltoabraham.html">an angel of death</a>, to the stars.</p>
-            <p>In Arizona, I thought I would forget the rain,<br />forget its sound on a roof like a hard wind, forget<br />its smell like a far away ocean. Luckily for me<br />it rains here. Luckily, because I forget too easily.</p>
-            <p>In a dream, <a href="father.html">my father is caught by a riptide</a> off-shore.<br />He’s pulled far out, far enough that the shoreline’s<br />a line in his <a href="ouroboros_memory.html">memory</a> on the horizon. I can see him<br />swimming, hand over hand, pulling his small weight</p>
-            <p>back to land. I see him as <a href="shipwright.html">another shipwreck</a> victim,<br />coughing sand and seawater, beard woven with seaweed.<br />I see him laying there a long time. I see all this<br />as he tells me the story, years later, the riptide</p>
-            <p>only a <a href="100-lines.html">ghost</a> in his memory, I only a child falling<br />asleep. My mother’s making mayonnaise rolls<br />in the kitchen, a recipe I’ll send for years later,<br />in Arizona, in the monsoon season, when my thirst</p>
-            <p>pulls me back home, my memory’s lonesome twinkle<br />like <a href="finding-the-lion.html">stars above the mountains</a>. I’ll send for it<br />and try to make them, but in the thin air they’ll<br />crumble into dust like desert air, like a memory.</p>
+            <p><span class="line">Inside of my memory, the poem is another memory.</span><span class="line">The air up here is thin, but the wind blows harder</span><span class="line">than anywhere else I know. It threatens to rip</span><span class="line">my body away, like <a href="angeltoabraham.html">an angel of death</a>, to the stars.</span></p>
+            <p><span class="line">In Arizona, I thought I would forget the rain,</span><span class="line">forget its sound on a roof like a hard wind, forget</span><span class="line">its smell like a far away ocean. Luckily for me</span><span class="line">it rains here. Luckily, because I forget too easily.</span></p>
+            <p><span class="line">In a dream, <a href="father.html">my father is caught by a riptide</a> off-shore.</span><span class="line">He’s pulled far out, far enough that the shoreline’s</span><span class="line">a line in his <a href="ouroboros_memory.html">memory</a> on the horizon. I can see him</span><span class="line">swimming, hand over hand, pulling his small weight</span></p>
+            <p><span class="line">back to land. I see him as <a href="shipwright.html">another shipwreck</a> victim,</span><span class="line">coughing sand and seawater, beard woven with seaweed.</span><span class="line">I see him laying there a long time. I see all this</span><span class="line">as he tells me the story, years later, the riptide</span></p>
+            <p><span class="line">only a <a href="100-lines.html">ghost</a> in his memory, I only a child falling</span><span class="line">asleep. My mother’s making mayonnaise rolls</span><span class="line">in the kitchen, a recipe I’ll send for years later,</span><span class="line">in Arizona, in the monsoon season, when my thirst</span></p>
+            <p><span class="line">pulls me back home, my memory’s lonesome twinkle</span><span class="line">like <a href="finding-the-lion.html">stars above the mountains</a>. I’ll send for it</span><span class="line">and try to make them, but in the thin air they’ll</span><span class="line">crumble into dust like desert air, like a memory.</span></p>
         </section>
     </article>
     <nav>