MICHAEL JACKSON, Cont.

What does it mean to be Michael Jackson and not my lover, and not a lover, Michael Jackson?

What does it mean, Michael, Lord of Harmony and Rhythm, of Dance..of Motion,

to live polaroid closed and public open? To sleep womb bound on your mother's floor,

to speak shyly and sing brazenly to my heart?

What does it mean when your humanity like your spangled right hand is gloved in artifice?

And you have stolen my heart and face, sweet and soft' ness with your wet and starved doe-boy eyes?

Soft Michael, tender Michael whose voice whispers spring and pubescence,

whose body is the slim stem of an early flower,

holy child, son of Jehovah, Beauty's eldest sister-no Jack' son-

Billie Jean is not your lover, Nor would she ever be.

She, so confidently hermaphroditic, looks in the mirror and loves herself.

She breathes definition on the glass, knowing what is true beneath her naval.

She who touches her face with certainty you could not, cannot, would not love, Michael Jackson. Nor can you love me

Or the woman self that you betray.

By Dr. S. D iane Bogus