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.

Leaves of Grass

Before this gets any more hectic, 
realize that my style is eclectic. 
Currently, I think verse 
as I read, write, rehearse.
Then I sing my body electric. 

I'll accede to fate for my fault. 
I littered this lettered assault 
with reference to deference 
and poetic preference, 
'cause when I think Whitman, it's Walt. 

So consider these limerick jokes in 
a way one could say is, well, 'spoken' 
by one known as Hi, 
and then you'll know why 
I use 'Leaves of Grass' for my tokin'.