Area 51

An orange storm blazes through the desert
with a vanilla smoke plume trailing the terrestrial comet,
racing toward the military base as soldiers raise their rifles.
Bullets sink into foot prints in the sand
as sprinters dash through the hills untouched,
arms flailing behind them, heads forward charging through
the military complex built on stolen alien technology.
Anti-gravity mines cannot hold down quick feet
that barely touch the ground
four-armed humanoid beasts cannot rip and tear
what it cannot see within the fruit-flavored clouds.
The curious crowd blitzes through the gates without a scrape.
The soldiers inside surrender and take flight
as the raid storms the underground laboratory.
Inside, Hollywood dreams become newfound reality,
celestial beings imprisonments are given freedom.
First contact is made. Lacking language, they communicate universally.
The aliens clap. The humans clap. Clapping thunders across the Nevada desert.

Critique

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