summary refs log tree commit diff stats
path: root/swansong-alt.html
diff options
context:
space:
mode:
authorCase Duckworth2015-03-02 18:31:47 -0700
committerCase Duckworth2015-03-02 18:31:47 -0700
commit9a2e2a9c3e0396f956381b8ee4af80fe3e8cf652 (patch)
tree7f6f171760ba416ba3c0324f1b1ef6b02dadb52a /swansong-alt.html
parentAdd fonts: Playfair, Fira, Courier Prime (diff)
downloadautocento-9a2e2a9c3e0396f956381b8ee4af80fe3e8cf652.tar.gz
autocento-9a2e2a9c3e0396f956381b8ee4af80fe3e8cf652.zip
Add thing class to pieces in template; recompile
Diffstat (limited to 'swansong-alt.html')
-rw-r--r--swansong-alt.html2
1 files changed, 1 insertions, 1 deletions
diff --git a/swansong-alt.html b/swansong-alt.html index 6a31e4c..80c752f 100644 --- a/swansong-alt.html +++ b/swansong-alt.html
@@ -24,7 +24,7 @@
24 <h1 class="subtitle">alternate version</h1> 24 <h1 class="subtitle">alternate version</h1>
25 </header> 25 </header>
26 26
27 <section class="verse"> 27 <section class="thing verse">
28 <p>This poem is dry like <a href="time-looks-up-to-the-sky.html">chapped lips</a>.<br /><a href="no-nothing.html">It is hard as teeth</a>—hear the tapping?<br />It is the swan song of beauty, as all<br />swan songs are. <a href="poetry-time.html">Reading</a> it, you are<br />puzzled, perhaps a little repulsed.<br />Swans do not have teeth, nor do they sing.<br />A honking over the cliff is all<br />they can do, and that they do<br />badly. You don’t know where I’m going.<br />You want to tell me, <a href="about-the-author.html">You are not you</a>.<br /><a href="swansong.html">You are the air the swan walks on.</a><br />You are the fringe of the curtain<br /><a href="elegyforanalternateself.html">that separates me from you</a>. I say<br />that you are no longer the temple,<br />that you have been through <a href="fire.html">fire</a><br />and are now less than ash. You are<br />the subtraction of yourself from<br />the world, <a href="finding-the-lion.html">the air without a swan</a>.<br />Together, we are each other. You<br />and I have both nothing and everything<br />at once, we own the world and nothing in it.</p> 28 <p>This poem is dry like <a href="time-looks-up-to-the-sky.html">chapped lips</a>.<br /><a href="no-nothing.html">It is hard as teeth</a>—hear the tapping?<br />It is the swan song of beauty, as all<br />swan songs are. <a href="poetry-time.html">Reading</a> it, you are<br />puzzled, perhaps a little repulsed.<br />Swans do not have teeth, nor do they sing.<br />A honking over the cliff is all<br />they can do, and that they do<br />badly. You don’t know where I’m going.<br />You want to tell me, <a href="about-the-author.html">You are not you</a>.<br /><a href="swansong.html">You are the air the swan walks on.</a><br />You are the fringe of the curtain<br /><a href="elegyforanalternateself.html">that separates me from you</a>. I say<br />that you are no longer the temple,<br />that you have been through <a href="fire.html">fire</a><br />and are now less than ash. You are<br />the subtraction of yourself from<br />the world, <a href="finding-the-lion.html">the air without a swan</a>.<br />Together, we are each other. You<br />and I have both nothing and everything<br />at once, we own the world and nothing in it.</p>
29 </section> 29 </section>
30 30