June

Look! The calendar! 
First there's a J 
and then there's a U
and then there's an N
and then there's a E
and when I decipher decipher decipher
all of a sudden WHAM
the appellation of the timely demarcation
congeals squishingly in my soul 
and I breathe out dark mutterings
into a shadowy bottle
but I give you the key to the bottle,
(A key!  Yes!  A key most metaphysical!)
the key that fits the periwinkle padlock on the underside 
latch hooked with a whizzle to the furthermost 
S-curved sloped rim protruding from the
five-pronged stabilizer shaft, conjoined with
the rear-mounted XGS assembly
equipped with seventeen phosphorescent 
sub-tract-post-psych-cardiactrical boom boom rays
(see Diagram 3, Figure 2, Appendix 1)
that keeps the bottle locked
and no one can ever touch the bottle
or talk about the bottle- 
it's really important that no one
touches the bottle-no one-
(If you don't have the key then
how can you touch the bottle?)
unless he or she openly confess with nary a hint of jest:
A month!  A month!  June is a month! 

 And now it is June, 
June the twenty-fourth,
in the third watch of this golden afternoon.
Now, here, this, is a prelude to the deep  night 
the deep, sweet night that, though future,
presently thrusts itself upon my second sight
in this year of our Lord 
two thousand and twelve.

In the nighttime, a badger will be at my window.
He'll chew through the black-rooted bush, scratch the glass,
make a noise most badgery, grumble harsh and low.
Yet it is not a badger at all, only a conniving baboon
dressed as a badger.  Impressive.
Ah, now I see you standing in your naked power, 
you phantasm baboon summoned by the sorcery of June,
you cunning month, you sly, sly June.
How does it feel to be disrobed?