57 en

sunday
sunday already
this week was anticipated
since thursday that every day is today
i promise you
today
thursday
that today
sunday
i don't write more
to later
what's the use to promise that much?
to fail
it's impossible today to live all my life
it will be an eternal promise
for what?
a few lines that you almost don't read
theough which your eyes jump
and you say at a glance
bullshit
this guy writes by meter
throws words to the keyboard
as if throwing them to the wind
and so
saying nothing
consumes bytes
spends memories
occupies band
broad
thin
according to the places
but i already imagine this poem moving around
even now i looked
and there goes a wave
wireless
see there
in that wave
clearly
that my poem
of the world
of the humanity
virtual
may be an artifact
prehistoric
for a future society