Hugo's markdown processor is weird as heck

content/gender/surgery/05.html

@@ -6,7 +6,7 @@ weight: 5
 <div class="verse">I'm no good at images, only words,
 and yet for days after surgery,
 as anesthesia and countless
-    milligrams, milliliters, millions of
+&emsp; milligrams, milliliters, millions of
 drugs leave my system,
 I'm lousy with visions,
 each lousy with meaning.
@@ -14,7 +14,7 @@ each lousy with meaning.
 I lay in bed, unable to move,
 struggling to keep my eyes open;
 I know that if I close them,
-    I'll be lost, I'll be lost, I'll be
+&emsp; I'll be lost, I'll be lost, I'll be
 mired in waking dreams,
 coherent visions with all the logic
 of that paler side of consciousness.
@@ -22,23 +22,23 @@ of that paler side of consciousness.
 Perhaps the veil here
 is still too thin and vague,
 the pool too clear, the monsters too scary
-    too lean, too mean, too hungry, or
+&emsp; too lean, too mean, too hungry, or
 perhaps I was too close to death
 to come away totally unscathed,
 too close to completely survive.
 
-    It's as though, laying here,
+&emsp; It's as though, laying here,
-    stinking of hospital,
+&emsp; stinking of hospital,
-    I'm seeing emotions play out,
+&emsp; I'm seeing emotions play out,
-        Scene after scene, scene after scene,
+&emsp; &emsp; Scene after scene, scene after scene,
-    anxiety shown in heaps of discarded entrails,
+&emsp; anxiety shown in heaps of discarded entrails,
-    hope in the ceaseless ratcheting of gears,
+&emsp; hope in the ceaseless ratcheting of gears,
-    determination in the marching of feet.
+&emsp; determination in the marching of feet.
 
 If I were an artist, perhaps
 I could hope to touch these images,
 but as it is, every word falls short,
-    too vague, too inexact, too tight to
+&emsp; too vague, too inexact, too tight to
 hope to explain something so vast
 by the very act of attempting to reproduce;
 I can only hint from the margins.
@@ -46,7 +46,7 @@ I can only hint from the margins.
 That poetry can accomplish what prose cannot
 in its economy of motion
 is attractive to me, here in recovery -
-    so tired, so tired, so tired - so
+&emsp; so tired, so tired, so tired - so
 maybe I can hope to express the dire import
 of these visions dancing behind closed lids,
 or at least remind myself on rereading.
@@ -54,7 +54,7 @@ or at least remind myself on rereading.
 Even now, a week out,
 I'm starting to lose touch with the visions,
 I can almost touch them if I squint,
-    lie real still, don't move now, but
+&emsp; lie real still, don't move now, but
 even then, a shadow of the substance...
 I'm starting to consign to memory
 that which was probably memory to begin with.</div>