kerosene lamp 

i sleep with all the lights on. 
i want wandering spirits
to stop here & eat their powdered donuts.
talk about fireflies & the death of mountains.
did you know there were once glaciers here?
they had their own gods & their own afterlife
which is now just a billboard zoo.
when i say, "beacon" i mean
a fire set in the middle of a static storm.
i mean there are pillows full of salamanders 
& blankets made of wood. i mean oil
pours from my mouth & into the lamp
to feed the sun. i mean my oil comes
from my ancient laughter. it does not require
the destruction of microwaves or 
resignation of a whole field of wheat.
it especially does not require weeping. 
all it requires is running from the big snake.
dodging the moose at the end
of the earth. i keep the lamp going.
i write my life story like a ransom note.
collage of "help" & "hurry."
when the spirits come i do not ask
"where are you from?" or even 
"what brought you here?" i ask,
"how would you like to feast?"
& then, i feed them everything i can.