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.


Mustard Seedsbrown, black and white,

grow wildly when exposed to light.

In each word you read

is a very small seed.

So I sow with my left hand, and write.

TEST. Check. Test. Is this thing on? 
Can you hear me?  I think I’ve gone 
completely, sweetly, out of my mind. Did 
I say that right? I’ve just been blinded 
by these bright shining lights. I see 
you blankly staring back at me, 
glaring at these words I'm writing,
when saying things like this, inciting 
riots in the minds of those who 
hear this message. I propose you
might be someone who’s suspected
that this gift of interjected,
perverse verse dispersion,
is a left to right conversion 
table. Able minds will tell 
whether or not this was done well.