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.


Breath alone disturbs the air
where I lie in the dark, 
looking at you over there.
No question, you're the mark. 
In a moment, you will stop
existing, since I'll send two 
rounds down range,
which may sound strange,
because the first will end you.