Let It Be Printed

At the moment of death,
the neverthriving juggler
Is born again
(born again jiggity jig)
Let it be printed!

See the man on the corner
collecting rain inside his head
Graffiti prophets disappearing
amongst the underfed

The last has died
he's pretty quiet these days
His gargoyle keens at his frozen feet
Beseeches passerby
to help
shadows of himself surround him
Stone throats surge
for speech
eventually he is gone
his little guardian is painted over
urban fantasy deimagined
The air around tastes like
beached whales
cigarette burns
whittled into shadows
believing so hard it hurts

So let it be printed!
That deimagining is becoming a reality
time is spent studying time
time that was once spent fulfilling ones daily
imagining quota

Let it be printed!
let it jitter like starving tarantulas
amongst forgotten fruit
let the city ask itself
if it can stand the rain
for one more day