Nicho de fría fábula recoge
la cansada atención de tu mirada,
máquinas de escribir, calculadoras,
escupen sus metales en tu entraña.
Cristales que te cubren como a un pez
sin la azul evasión que deja el agua,
órdenes que carcomen tu cerebro
y te hacen caracol de la palabra.
El día toca su campana gris
y te encierra en la cárcel de tus gafas.
Monótonos ratones de papel
te van royendo el alma.
[II,471]
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