Howardism Musings from my Awakening Dementia
My collected thoughts flamed by hubris
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Side Note

Why don't I write more poems? I realize that I can only write if I'm beaten over the head with it. If I have to work for it, it gets lost in the day-to-day struggle of wiping noses and fixing snacks for screaming mouths.


Ah, the dicotomy that is Spring. The sweet smell of flowers and the pungent smell of mulch all in the same breath. While coming home, I noticed a sight that seemed to capture these feelings…

Heavy plum blossoms
Furry pink finger pointing
Furry roadkill

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