Improv: Bond's "Homage to the Ear"

By the dim lamp in the corner, we stand witness to the ear without a body, something out of Blue Velvet or your father's formaldehyde cache. There's nothing but silence here. I think about your father and his ataxia. The way he holds his chest to the wall below that piece of Penley kitsch, like the way you examine the ear. Where did it come from? Who left it. It cries. We must keep it, hush it, whisper in sibilance, we will be happy I swear.