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.

On Porpoise

Sometimes I like to run with homos,
sapiens wearing almost no clothes.
Yes, naked homos run with me
along beaches, and through poetry 
where whoever else may look can see
such naked little things as we,
who run around so nakedly!

We run with just one task in mind.
The task we ask is one of the kind
you'd find our kind would be resigned
to ask up front. Leave naught behind
but thoughts, and let your minds unbind.

With grace and tact supporting skill,
this space, in fact, provides what will
be seen on your screen to fit the bill
as running in writing. So, let’s run, still. 

Bid us farewell, and wish us luck.
If you can, tell how much a buck
is worth, when charged for such transactions.
I mean, what you've seen, if it brings satisfaction,
just say that a buck would be money well tendered
if such runs costs a dollar, and this was a run rendered.

Have you spent time worth ten dimes on this matter? 
Has your wallet been thinned? Did another’s get fatter?

The norm of the former suggests you might know
that the latter, re: fatter, is a “sonant bon mot”
suggesting ingesting. Hear my calling. It’s clear,
and will ring in your ears, if you read without fear 
that I’ll write prolifically on such varied topics 
as running, specifically, in Hawaiian-like tropics
where the beach is in reach, and the sunset usurps us.
May the sea let us see porpoises, with a purpose.