Michael Jackson,
dead and gone,

king of pop,
the moon's own son:

the earth was yours,
so was the night;

neon and sparkles,
hearing, sight,

a velvet touch,
fedora white.

Michael tell me,
if you know,

what power makes
the dark to glow?

What fancy fake
elaborate

lie must I tell
myself

to keep dancing
under the stars

you hung so
exactly

where they are?

Aaron Belz teaches English at Providence Christian College in Los Angeles, California. His second collection of poetry, Lovely, Raspberry, is due out this winter from Persea Books.

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