Is This My Wife? x The Valley of My E'ery way x San Francisco Bay (Mashup)

You look wrecked after close. The receipt printer split its Earth Snake tongue & played to a beautiful draw. Minesweepers are still arguing. Shoulders skulk over the troll, fingers on the Chinese scanners. The brass key is Till; a house of sticks, between ignition & a cask. Jolt Cola cooler spews venom, where frost blows two caskets & definitely where Snow White stripped. Just you and me under rainbow nickels, third-side perspective. Camera one's A Broken Frame; let's sail away... Break-neck elves bare it all, & Mawpsie hops on pop, when Jolt Cola is the cut-off. Joker opens portals; Harley Quinn lost all her cloves, passed from Till counting, & swore she'd turn the page through her weeeping If Teal & Tulip ever split the back booth at the diner on Halsted — Red vinyl torn at the seam, one chrome leg wobbling On a folded napkin, shoved sideways Me prying off this couch Whilst the busted autumn bites the backs of my thighs, Peeling free from couch grease, dust in the seams, Thumping Arkham off the razor's edge, Yanking free of your pillow, caved in and warm at the center, Shaking the lint-heavy gray throw from the armrest Thick with dog hair and old crumbs Stepping out of the blanket crease Where you left your work shirt folded. Under that hard black noon By the payday loan spot & the barber of sex with the window peering into Hell Past the Church of Satan and the brimstone plot, Where the 8 pulls up packed with ghosts & the doors wheeze open for hosts of hosts, With the Green Line clacking over the alley The corner store screen buzzing, the bus brakes sighing, Somebody dropping coin-operated girls by the curb, The devil parks between both you & I With a Marilyn Manson contact lens My radio snow hissing through your name And cracking against my ribs like a cold pentacle. Every time I turn the page The devil plays greensleeves— The fix for what drags us down!