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| author | Case Duckworth | 2015-03-02 18:31:47 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Case Duckworth | 2015-03-02 18:31:47 -0700 |
| commit | 9a2e2a9c3e0396f956381b8ee4af80fe3e8cf652 (patch) | |
| tree | 7f6f171760ba416ba3c0324f1b1ef6b02dadb52a /swansong-alt.html | |
| parent | Add fonts: Playfair, Fira, Courier Prime (diff) | |
| download | autocento-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.html | 2 |
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 | ||