I wrote this one first yesterday, for the Brewer prompt on names. Then I set it aside because I was hoping to revise it before posting it here. Alas, I never got back to it, so first draft it stands (for now).
Mick Jagger
God made him from rubber clay,
stretched and twisted, set to spring
but who could see, back in the days
of schoolcaps, of knee pants, the
pop
that cracked the world
bent the frames, made the moon roll
such a fire needs fuel
booze and breasts and boasts
charlie, chewing gum, china white
burning to black
black
till black lost its meaning
what a machine
to keep that jittery, unsteady roll
down years, not gathering moss
but shedding all but the essential
one
great
clay mouth
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