So this was a particularly hard poem to write. I’ve always had trouble grappling with my past, and writing from that perspective. People continually hound writers to write what they know, to find a way to make the story of their lives into something literary and expressive. As much as I’ve wanted to do this it has always been elusive. I don’t know why, though I could probably chalk it up to the trauma of growing up with an alcoholic making the reckoning that much more difficult. I do feel like this is a hurdle in my practice that I need to get over. Figuring out my greatest challenge hopefully will open a door into greater feats of artistic value. So I offer Ghost Hunting, which could be considered a companion to another poem of mine, When the Bells Stop Ringing, which I’ll publish here later. I hope you enjoy.

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