Parental Advisory

Hear Ye. Hear Ye. Here we propose to posit prose poetry
forming a form 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 are wrought, and revealed thusly,
each whit of wit written Hieronymously.

Knock Knock

Random, in tandem with conscious intent,
produces our usefulness to time. I've spent
hours on ours, like time after time,
rehearsing verse. Right now, it's raining rhyme
and rhythm. No schism, or terse interjection
can dissolve the knot once we've got a connection
to things such as strings, and to the ties that bind them
to thoughts that we ought to know just how to find hymns
well struck, as if plucked by the finger of God,
or heard in the words of the weird and the odd.
No odder than fodder and feed for the flock,
I opine here, hoping hearts open. Knock. Knock.