The baby cries. Mick Jagger swagger...

The baby cries. Mick Jagger swaggers backstage,
lit with sweat. The multitude still screams outside.
He's been second-lining with a gaggle of recently made known Orleans Negroes,
a white parasol, wears toreador pants and is bare-chested, bone
I've forgiven the Rolling Stones for fetishizing me
and my sisters in "Brown Sugar" and "Some Girls."
Black girls, black girls, black girls.
wherefore does so much flotsam populate my brain?
with what intent not ancient Geez, the Mingus discography,
suminagashi paper technique,
something utilitarian?