dave steger

Sessions Street (again)

a piano
softsmall
plays into the grand scheme of things
where lights dim and smoke rises
woodstove
first fire of the long white winter
Sessions Street (again)
the winding street that my existence belongs to
twisting and turning above Indian Springs
where
weathered wood carries you over
but you always carry yourself back

History fucks the past…

Now she stands alone
upon thy cherry throne
Sips upon silverstone drops
a sugary infusion of golden hops

She's a visual archetype
but I don't get all the hype
for symbolic surrealism
with a side of unjustifiable pluralism
isn't exactly my ideal meal

Time has slowed in this sprawling whitewinter town
clickclock
ticktock
humdrumhumdrumhumdrum
my toes my fingers
mysoul
it's numb