Where They Belong Poem by Robert Rorabeck

This has to happen sometime, with the sun coming up:
The working girls exhausted like the nocturnal blooms of
Cesspool weeping flowers
Underneath the hangnails of the moon
Who has collected so many wimbled bellies of weightless
Cosmo naught s
The curious angels flaunt around like comely goldfish
Above the apple orchards and the forts who smear
Their wreaths into the sea;
And it goes so far away until the first inklings of the morning’s
School day comes up and shows the weariness in the surface
Of trailer parks:
Mickey Mouse who lays off the whores, and gets to fitting himself
Back on,
And the carnival takes to the road again, like hungry, dirty
Butterflies just trying to figure out where they belong.