KHUM, which I listen to at work, is playing a bunch of songs about Van Gogh. Here's a quick little stanza that might go somewhere.
Van Gogh cut off his ear,
not his hand. He didn’t need it to hear
what he heard: the sussuration through
sunflowers, the thud of stale bread
on cracked wood, the faint but very real
whoosh of a spiral of stars.