Red tide...

Big ol' big ol'...
Wash that tide up close; snug bug algae bloom and such. 1953. Maybe more, definite third step back (crevasse). No one or twosomes thricewide are safe and pink 'nymore. Now it's plastic shielded, colored white through and through, and as dumb as they come-- probably home schooled or so tuned in they can't unwind the peg, let alone drop D. The reak of oil and a bad toke shimmy up and chime too: the omen, the imminent, the soap, the scared. Everything will be ripped from the horn: foreigners and unwanteds sent packing or reagan shaved or forced into belabor cramps; made into merde, or pariah-tied into convincing them that we too are true blues, red apostles, and nancy comix. Still, it's unlikely. Once the censors censure and insure that the sign reads of fine fodder, the rest could pry an eye to other likelihoods: food, just maybe-- were if they smart enough to seize upon valuable protein potential-- but rest E-Z, shan't happen, lest they're told. The one good thing about the complicit ones is that they only do what they're told. But you an' me are gonna hafta blend in for a little while, or risk being bled when the torches & pitchforks come marching.


(eyes used for tooth support)