Wear on the same gargoyle face

In the corner of a shop doorway
Did I see the canvas of life?
Preening its self with claws, tightly, frappe.
Feet wrapt in dead, wildlife:

One nonchalantly, above the other
Eyes open, neck stretched:
Was he her mate, her one time lover?
His bill open-hangs retched

In the frozen last gasps of demise.
Atop not the least bothered,
Looks completely happy to comprise;
The world hers at last deferred.

Out here the cities, mock their own waste.
Whilst two girls take photos of a
Homeless drunk drooling abase
These girls laughing, at the screenplay...
Wear on the same gargoyle face.