The Alabaster Mountains Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Suppositions to the stars or anywhere:
I cry out in the tiniest of bedrooms to all of the gods
Or to anyone—
To hear me now,
Touching myself,
And trying to make an entertainment to the paper airplanes—
To call together now all of the centerfolds,
That in this place shall be
Altogether our amusements—
And to make an amusing charade out of the sun and
The stars—
At least until I have a little more money—
And, as the soonest prophecies are received—
To remember the arbitraries of the silk road—
To remember anywhere that seems to languish
In their tomorrow—
To cut across the opened throats of the alabaster
Mountains and thus to proceed.