On the Existence of Ghosts. The night my grandfather died. I was 3000 miles away,. But I felt his hand on my shoulder. When he told me goodbye in a dream. The voice of an extinguished ember,. Sings grief for the flame. Because its scent still lingers. Entire oceans drain away,. But there are still rivulets of sea foam and bones. The negative of where the shore used to be. There are only footprints now.

This is What I Remember About that Stuff. By Todd Duffey Writes on Things. Madres, minus the Mariachis. And it was then that I, and everyone else, heard their main contender. I think I get the connection. By Todd Duffey Writes on Things.

As I obsessively search for some trace of a pattern. In the random etches of my life, as I yearn to feel the. Comforting touch of some sort of foreshadow, as I. Analyze the Freudian nature of my dreams on a scale. Of one to lust, as I take note of the number of steps I take,. The number of hours I sleep, and the color of my socks,.