Hear Ye. Hear Ye. Here we
propose to posit prose poetry,
forming forms of continuous connectivity
to communicate considerable
contemplative reflectivity.

Simply put, we pose this where
prose poetry is what you'll hear
when wondering where the time went
while reading such rhyme wonderments
as oft we've wrought, and revealed thusly;
each whit of wit written Hieronymously.

Our Glass

Life's a beach, and I'm beach bound; 
beach bag in hand. Waves crash. I've found 
that man and sand can stand and fall 
to water, wind, and nature's call. 

So stand I will at water's edge, 
as if upon a cliff or ledge, 
and leap; the deep a seething mass. 
No air down there. I'll breathe my last 
and dive, arriving wherever after. 
Air Consumed; lungs filled with laughter.