Sí, encuentro en la usura
rayos de sol que alimentan
bocas carentes de sabor
y brebaje de potable licor,
Que acometa cataratas
y lunas de canción, aún tristes,
sin hogar ni mansedumbre.
Es la locura que ha llegado ya
y no va a acabar sin mil misterios…
Gustavo García Pradillo
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