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.

Okay, Dance

Okay, 'Dance' does sound real neat
when it makes you move your feet.

When you hear 'OKAY, DANCE' calls, 
sound off loud. Let your foot falls
mark your time ... Oh, Cadence will
make you proud! You're sitting? ... STILL!?!

Sir, take a thirty inch step with your left,
a thought here befitting your sitting. My cleft
is spread like your head, hemispheres of influence
firing on all cylinders, if that makes any sense.
If not, then what I am saying is this:
Wish on a star, for you are Dismissed!