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<title>The Death Zone | Autocento of the breakfast table</title>
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<h1 class="title">The Death Zone</h1>
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<a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/13.7/2013/11/19/245996903/embracing-life-and-death">And my life became death.</a>
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<div class="epigraph-attrib">Philip Gould</div>
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<img src="img/gould.png" alt="Philip Gould" /><figcaption>Philip Gould</figcaption>
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<p>When I think of death I think<br />of Peter Falk in <em>The Princess Bride</em> patting<br /><a href="creation-myth.html">his pockets</a> as he leaves the room</p>
<p>Life is a series of doors or so<br />they say but I ask them this<br />where does that last door lead?</p>
<p>For Falk maybe it leads backstage<br />a black-walled catered affair with stage<br />lights slowly baking stale muffins</p>
<p><a href="i-wanted-to-tell-you-something.html">Sweaty cheese</a> leaking onto dried-out<br />grapes a chocolate fountain clogged<br />by some errant strawberry crown</p>
<p>but this is not where it leads for you or<br />for me that door opens onto darkness marked<br />only by a trellis or the lid of a casket</p>
<p>the door of the <a href="about-the-author.html">earth’s womb</a> opening<br />finally to accept us and with us the dirt<br />not to grow more strawberries for Falk</p>
<p>but to pad his feet as he walks overhead<br />to visit someone he certainly cares about<br />but whose name is lost to posterity.</p>
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