idle

whiskey and the chill breeze
coming off the creek
gravity tugs on the leaves
of the trees and

yet i still sit, idly

less whiskey and now
a surplus of cold breeze
now gravity tugs on me
yet i still sit, idly

the roots, they twist and snare
the ice too much to bear
i start to worry, my heart, ensnared
the bottle's empty, my soul is bare

yet i still sit, idly