Sometimes I start sketching out poems in my Palm Pilot. Here's one that's still sitting in the "Memo" list, waiting for a gentle nudge toward completion.

"untitled" as yet

American Black buck shuffle jive
beamed worldwide 24/7 live
devoid of contextual clues, like
cargo moans to spiritual blues, and
jazz improv to freestyle dues

ghettoizing hip hop's conscious muse

not surprising since cash rules;
Bigger-ish nigroes use masters' tools
paradin through plantations draped in jewels
provin fame's just a cage for fools