Even in that place of final exile br among tombs, and mechanical inscriptions, br each leaf is a different green, br flower of a different kind br of red and yellow; also each ripe fruit br tumult of a really different seed br there, in that place. br br Outside in the traffic br between the city's indifferent wheels and feet, br amid a hatred of trees, br the phalloid needles of sewing machines br have sown a new drill. The sleeves br of uniforms droop br like the wet feathers of a crow's wing br over a secret carrion. Girls unbreasted, br wear guns like earrings. Boys ungamed, br grip them like tickets. The spree br is a wake. Admission is free.