1 files changed, 6 insertions, 6 deletions

@@ -33,7 +33,7 @@
                 
                                     <!-- epigraph -->
                     <div class="epigraph">
-                                            <p>So Death plays his little <a href="apollo11.html">fucking</a> trumpet. So what, says the boy.</p>
+                                            <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>
                     
                                             <div class="attrib">Larry Levis</div>
                                         </div>
@@ -42,11 +42,11 @@
 
         
         <section class="content verse">
-            <p><span class="line">He didn’t have any polish so he spit-shined the whole thing,</span><span class="line">top to bottom. It gleamed like maybe a tomato on the vine</span><span class="line">begging to be picked and thrown on some caprese. Death loved caprese.</span></p>
-            <p><span class="line">He stood up and put the horn to his lips, imagining</span><span class="line">it was a woman he loved. He blushed as he realized</span><span class="line">it was a terrible metaphor.</span><span class="line">He practiced for six hours a day—what else to do?</span></p>
-            <p><span class="line">Death looks at <a href="moongone.html">himself in the mirror</a> as he plays.</span><span class="line">The trumpet is suspended in midair. Damn vampire rules.</span><span class="line">Death is always worried he might have missed a spot shaving</span><span class="line">but he’ll never know unless a stranger is polite enough.</span><span class="line">Not that he ever goes out or meets anyone.</span></p>
-            <p><span class="line">He wakes up late these days. Stays in bed later.</span><span class="line">He thinks he might be depressed. The caprese has gotten soggy</span><span class="line">since he made it, maybe three days ago or maybe just two.</span><span class="line">The sun streams through his kitchen blinds like smoke.</span><span class="line">He decides to go to the arcade. When he gets there,</span></p>
-            <p><span class="line">there’s only a <a href="angeltoabraham.html">little boy</a> with dead eyes. So far so good.</span><span class="line">He’s playing a first-person shooter. Death walks past him</span><span class="line">and watches out of the corner of his eye. The kid’s good.</span><span class="line">Death wants to congratulate him. His trumpet is in his hand.</span></p>
+            <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>
+            <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>
+            <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>
+            <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>
+            <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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