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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

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