apollo11.html


1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54

<!DOCTYPE html>
<!-- Template for compiled 'Autocento' documents -->
<html lang="en">
<head>
    <meta charset="utf-8">
    <meta name="generator" content="pandoc">
    <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1.0, user-scalable=yes">
    <meta name="author" content="Case Duckworth">
    <!-- more meta tags here -->
    <title>On seeing the panorama of the Apollo 11 landing site | Autocento of the breakfast table</title>
    <!-- general styles & scripts -->
    <link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="./css/common.css">
    <script src="./js/lozenge.js" type="text/javascript"> </script>
    <script src="./js/hylo.js" type="text/javascript"> </script>

        <link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="./css/verse.css">
    <script src="./js/verse.js" type="text/javascript"> </script>
            <link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="./css/elegies.css">
    <script src="./js/elegies.js" type="text/javascript"> </script>
        <!--[if lt IE 9]>
    <script src="http://html5shim.googlecode.com/svn/trunk/html5.js"> </script>
    <![endif]-->
    <!-- <script src="js/external.js"> </script> -->
    </head>
<body>

    <header>
        <!-- title -->
        <h1 class="title">On seeing the panorama of the Apollo 11 landing site</h1>
        

        
            </header>

    <section class="thing verse">
    <p>So it’s the <a href="deathstrumpet.html">fucking moon</a>. Big deal. As if<br />you haven’t seen it before, hanging in the sky<br />like a piece of <a href="roughgloves.html">rotten meat</a> nailed to the wall,</p>
    <p>a maudlin love letter (the i’s dotted with <a href="proverbs.html">hearts</a>)<br />tacked to the sky’s door like ninety-eight theses.<br />Don’t stare at it like it means anything.</p>
    <p>Don’t give it the chance to collect meaning<br />from your hand like an old pigeon. Don’t dare ascribe<br />it a will, or call it fickle, or think it has any say</p>
    <p>in your affairs. It’s separated from your life<br />by three hundred eighty-four thousand miles of space,<br />the same distance you stepped away from time that night</p>
    <p>you said your love was broken, a crippled gyroscope<br />knocking in the dark. It was then that time fell apart,<br />had a nervous breakdown and started following you</p>
    <p>everywhere, moonfaced, always asking where you’re going.<br />You keep trying to get away from it but it nuzzles closer<br />and sings you songs that sound like the cooing of a dove<br />that will only escape again into an empty sky at dawn.</p>
    </section>

    <nav>
                <a class="prevlink" href="and.html">
            And
        </a>
                <a href="#" id="lozenge" title="Random page"> &loz; </a>
                <a class="nextlink" href="arspoetica.html">
            Ars poetica
        </a>
            </nav>
</body>
</html>