Becoming Bacon

Sometime in June, I lost my voice. I've been sore a dozen times, but this was different. I felt drowned in charcoal. Most of the week I tried not to speak. But the worst of it was not being able to sing. The steam from my morning showers drifted in to the very chord and nothing. No song. It's dramatic to say, but I didn't exist. When I saw this painting - the figure - it reminded me of June. Bacon is my June.