Fab Five

I’m listening to Gord Downie
Bash me to sleep with elusive brilliance
With inexplicable, dense, and convoluted meaning
With terrible disasters and snarling beasts
With memorable one-liners
And high-wire sonic feats
Of tight-rope syllables
On steel-toe beats
That dangle in the ephemera
Like a cigarette perched
Agonizingly
On the rhythm guitarist’s
Out-thrust lip
In the total mythology
Of the tragically hip