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.

Screw Ewes! (Baaaad Words)

My horse is dead. I do not weep.
I still screw ewes, asleep like sheep.

I beat ewe's heads. I slit ewe's throats

to smile at my wild words, and quotes.
Flock, you ewes, you few who've gone
on, and flock you ewes who I've wrote on.