Me & Morisseau were both abused as kids
both drank like carp then sang by hand
of a Canada that deplorably survives
high in the clawed glistening air
Our giant muskrat soul kept falling apart
into butchered townships aflame with primal colour
& the spit of the grease was the shared song
of the brush & the pen slicing through forgiveness
Phil Hall and the Boston Pops?