Prelude to the Revolution
It is frightening gray
dusty weather.
A little light.
The hardly open eyes.
The heads
that got out of line
have fallen.
The empty bell
did the same.
Maybe at last
they’ll start up
the machines
under the palms.
There is a nail.
Night twists
in an immense funnel.
Let somebody
tell the story.
Source: Index of first lines in Pierre Reverdy, Selected Poems (1969)
H o w i e
G o o d
H o w i e G o o d
Prelude to the Revolution
Arbus