Tinderbox
Poems and stories with matches in their mouths.

Now you've done it. You opened the Tinderbox.

Where I keep my sparks.
Where words don’t behave.
Where once safe stories arrive after escaping through scorch holes

from my pockets.

Here poems flicker in embers, waiting for a match.
Some are lanterns. Some infernos. All Byrne alive.

Reader beware. This page is flammable.