The Man Who Lost an Ear

When he wakes up that balmy morning,
he fears he lost a part of him the night before
but he is not sure what exactly. All he knows
is that there was big mob,
there was a screaming tune,
there were drinks – potent cocktails of various colors – and they were overflowing,
there were phosphorescent lights,
and he was the most luminous man in the world.
But there was another radiant fellow in the far corner of the room and he danced and squeezed his way through the crowd towards him and when they touched he whispered naked imperatives and words from the Gospel of Judas. His tongue was sharp;
he can still feel the tickle. It makes him smile.

What’s funny? asks his wife, entombed in a plateau of wrinkled blankets.
He does not hear her at all. The smile is still there.

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