but am i supposed to wait?

a poem

there are no leaves left on the tree am i supposed to wait?
you whiskey’d your so long
so long ago
i can’t willow my way into an oak (it is not possible) i want to take this fertile soil and plant something real but i’m afraid the seeds have expired

i’m scrambled up in August and who, by hurricane can start again?

i collect amber bottles and keep them empty
any substance would alter the amber
you once glorified my anthem, remember?
i can’t keep these empty any longer
it might be time to finally alter the amber