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.

Mouse Trapped

We build with blocks of time. Our 
last hours pass softly as flowers 
bloom, and our room is filled with friends. 
Then, snap. The trap descends. Amends 
are made for the games we’ve played, lost 
time left owing as the price each life costs. 

So we eschew irksome issues ushered in 
to where the weary, wearing thin 
pajamas, yammer on about 
death, since they tax our ears, no doubt.