POEM TO MICHAEL JACKSON

There was once a boy with desires to be swan its father imposed him a difficult work
to touch the footlights with barely 5 years but he sought in his voice a logarithm of the happiness and when
still was youth sang until breaking the crystals of the heavenly vault but a day he looked at himself in the
mirror and he wanted to find the snow in the reflection of his own black hole later knew that the stars do not
die only of sidereal death but implosionan toward their innermost thoughts to being swallowed the sadness too
much melancholy too much hope dispelled

Cúanto lakes leave to see the face of the ugly duckling how many flashes, how many fireworks, how much
wickedness themselves hidden in this world that does not permit to see the swan that appears when themselves
juuntan the big dipper in that full firmament of tablets and barbiturates to sleep and accounts payable and
concerts by comply for awake and to sleep again delivering him to the heart the anguish of the life of the
other not own not the intimate one not that where the native light twinkles perhaps

There was once a swan that wanted to be a boy and utilized dust and entered to unheard-of cameras to change the tone of its skin and paid its new
infancy as who compares a carrousel infinite and an enormous park of diversions and a long night was dedicated to play the eternity with the voices
of the children behind its garden without think perhaps perhaps in the merciless minds of the other the ones that being seen naked were found sin

Still it is there the swan looking at since the stars sounding us in the middle of its impossible musical notes

Still is there

Still is there?



PAUL PUMA