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.


MY SHIFT KEY STICKS. It does. I swear.
Just WATCH. You'll see it stick from THERE
whenever I've the need to shift

a paradigm with rhyme. My GIFT,

if that this is, and it be said
of words like these here, HEARD WHEN READ,
sounds clearly near, if not exactly,
to the point, matter-of-factly

stating in these terms relating
to the rhythms syncopating
in, and around all the sounds
extending from adverbs and nouns

conjoined in voices, yours and mine,
and how they mix. They intertwine
when both converge to say the things
we say when a new meeting brings

us to the point of an expression
of a thought; our minds' digression
into form, like when inciting
substance to appear in writing.