bughouse poems and art

*krakr-jaks modified May 2021

The Cracker Jack box in 1977-78 was my prize when I was crying. I remember the Cracker Jack boxes well. It was very exciting because we would not normally be spoiled with a treasure box like that every day.

I remember my friend, and I remember the carpet. She was a natural leader and I was a natural follower. I was always safe when I was with her.

The original art maintains its meaning to me, and I also find meaning in having ways to express things that would be difficult with words.

In keeping with my recent discoveries in the pilgrimage, I realize I can communicate this one, for example, with more discretion, so I censored this.