Former Flame Fridays - Lilyanne Kane

6/20/25

You were featured in volume 777. What has happened since?

I had the opportunity to share a couple of poems in volume 777; those two poems have since become four or five poems. They’re multiplying.

In Defense of Cannibalism: The Fire Eaters I

As a child I stared into campfires. The 
consuming heat made my eyes water. 
The truths of the universe unfolded 
before me and I desperately tried to resist
blinking, to not miss a moment of the 
elaborate epiphanic dance of destruction. 
 
In middle school, there were names 
I wrote on strips of paper, muttered
angry words over while burning them
in the backyard on a patch of dirt. 
It made eating lunch by myself in the
bathroom less painful. Somewhat. 
 
Gingham, you introduced me to the art of inhaling 
smoke one night hidden in the massive cobwebs 
of dilapidated batting cages. Your face was upturned 
as if in desperation as you sucked at the mouth 
of an empty Monster can fashioned into a pipe. 
I didn’t know yet to plug the carb, the aluminum can 
whistling like my father with each of my inhales. 

What/who inspired In Defense of Cannibalism parts I & II? How does it fit into your style/body of work?

These particular poems are inspired by this type of friendship I used to have in my youth, as a closeted and denial-drenched young lesbian. When I would “crush” on boys, they were all replaceable. Like the one Kanye lyric goes, “There’s a thousand you’s, there’s only one of me.” That’s how it felt, like there was just this abundance of boys and they were all the same. But girls– girls were a different story! I would have these wild, intense friendships with girls where we’d become utterly obsessed with one another. I remember one of them saying to me once, “It’s like you’re taking over my life.” We’d become totally enmeshed; it was like being eaten alive by this other person, disappearing into her.

One of those special friends and I started a club in high school. We called ourselves The Female Pyro Club and were the only two members. We’d get together and just light shit on fire. Old math homework, mostly, but also pencils, bits of clothing, and on one memorable occasion, a tablecloth. It’s a miracle we never burned anybody’s house down.

It felt so invigorating to literally play with fire– much like playing with queerness. These poems were inspired largely by those experiences, of having friends I burned for and with. These poems have been simmering inside me for years now, and are slowly accumulating into a collection. The more time I spend with them the more I have to say, to where a single poem I’m realizing contains the seedlings of even more poems. Before these ones, I was writing mostly about trauma and purging demons. So these poems on my youth and lesbian identity were a little lighter to write, and honestly more fun.

Why Troublemaker Firestarter? What compels you to submit your work? Why be a writer at the end of the world?

So this collection of poems was actually initially inspired by Troublemaker Firestarter! I came across a call for submissions on Twitter, and the name and vibe got me thinking about my own troublemaking, fire-starting days. I’d been trying to write less from a place of trauma and more from a place of love; these poems landed somewhere around a place of mischief and mayhem. I submit my poems mostly out of bids for connection. I spend all this time writing and editing, and that’s mostly a lonesome sort of thing. When I get somewhere that seems finished or almost finished, I feel like hey this is kinda neat. I’d like to put it out in the world and see if anybody else finds it neat. Being a writer at the end of the world makes a lot of sense to me. Artists, including writers, are observers. We are the ones watching the world start to burn. The pot is boiling, and we are the frogs pointing out the rapidly growing temperature and bubbles. Idk. I’m writing because it’s all I know, it’s the main thing I believe in. Good writing is honest, and if there’s nothing else at least I have honesty. Honesty brings us together, it makes us feel less alone, and what else is there worth surviving for?

Who are your current favorite writers?

My favorite writers are Ocean Vuong, Carl Phillips, Eileen Myles, Richard Siken, Ellen Bass, and Danez Smith. I like writers who aren’t afraid to be a little (or a lot) sexy with it.

Are you a troublemaker, a firestarter, a heartbreaker, a lucky duck, a devil, a terror, or sad and horny?

All of the above, honestly, as well as a big ole cry baby.

Where can people find you?

I’m on Bluesky and Instagram @PrinceofCrumbs

What would you want the lovely readers of Substack to do?

Dearest lovely people of Substack– read poems that make you feel. Make art that feels good in your soul. Spend time with people you love and tell them the reasons you love them. Mostly, just, follow your joy. Find what lights your fire and chase after it singing like a siren. Or screaming like a banshee. Whatever gets you pumped.