Bryan Thao Worra

(01/01/1973 / Vientiane, Laos)

Aliens


We turn our dishes to
Heaven, but

What manner of dog will come running
To lick them,

Drawn to the censored moaning groins
And the pyrotechnics of false death
And chemical love?

Fetch me a big stick to shake
At these stellar voyeurs!

I want nothing to do with them

As I run down my strange streets,
An accidental alien without
A ray gun.

Submitted: Monday, July 29, 2013
Edited: Monday, July 29, 2013

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