There ain't a thing
here other than
ghost stories
for you to pack up
and tell over your
campfire made of
burning books
and love letters
leaving our memories
suspended in the smoke
and the carcinogens blend
and I don't know where I begin
or end
and I refuse to choke
because that's not what you
do at a campfire
to which you weren't invited
but it's a show for you
for your birthday
and the ghost stories
are there to tell you
to behave
because you are nothing
but a book
a story that is
oh
so
flammable