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.

Aroma Therapy

You'll note my nose, its width and length.
It's meant to tell of smells and stinks.
It tells me now how last night lingers,
stinking up my nose with fingers
thrust in just the perfect way,
and that is all I'm going to say.

The politics of compromise,
when once resolved between one's thighs,
extends unending through the mind.
At least, that's what I hope you'll find.