Ode to Eau Claire

I stare with my mouth open, at my wristwatch.
Impervious to the fact that I am drooling.
But I let the drool rest there
Until time rusts.

Flashes of language describe something called
Memories. But as laughter commences and
Beer soothes a chatting throat,
Describing the Old Times
Becomes much more
Than
Shapes & Colors.

It’s a blink of an eye
Where the darkness seems to last
Forever.

It’s a phone call
That ends with:
“Have we really been talking for two hours?”

It’s the
Coulda,
Woulda,
Shoulda,
Of regret & shame.

In Any-Town USA
A person can find existence
Describing the stubbornness of clarity.

Within this timeline
There’s
Friendship,
Poetry,
And never goodbyes
But
Seeya laters.

If memories are an example of anything
It’s this

ALL IS INFINITE.

Footsteps taken cannot be un-done.

When blinking ends
And eyelevel is a measurement of distance
Look to the past with a smile.
Look to the future wide-eyed.

Forget about blinking.
Let the eyes swell with tears
Because they’re dry
Not because they’re sad.

And so it comes
That I end with this.

Keep the adventures going.
When something remains stagnant
It rusts. And rust is very boring to look at.

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