A Poem by Alan Britt for the Aliens Are Us Project



He slides a flame beneath a strand

of Wallendas rope that snaps above the cavern.

The web billows: children tumble, Aunts, 3rd Cousins

& Las Lloronas who prowl on Magic Moons.


An RV made of oxygen & light descends

upon a gypsy camp in Manhattan. Out bounces

aliens with rubber arms and melaleuca breath—

when one alien takes this little Roma with black moons

for eyes & brown knuckles dipped in coffee.


The hour is palpable as the alien’s rubber fingers

vine the copper wrist of Ángelita

& blow a kiss into her brain, thus,

switching on lights in the barrio,

tugging cotton string & brass chain bulbs

in kitchens known as Hell, illuminating

every museum & cathedral, every gas station,

every city hall & boardroom of the bored,

each stitch in the throat of every mockingbird

that fell out of love, every pronoun soaked

in olive oil, each filament of astral

atom dancing down 185 in Oakland,

US 1 in Miami, 42nd in NYC,

while sweeping paint across every solid surface

in the known universe.


~Alan Britt…5/5/12…11:47PM


2 comments on “A Poem by Alan Britt for the Aliens Are Us Project

  1. Jose Rodeiro says:

    This insightful “El Britto” poem hits many nails squarely on their heads!!!
    This poem reveals the alienation within alienation; capturing the feeling of being cut-off from everyone — being an alien among aliens.

  2. Alan,

    I am so moved by your poem.The images take the reader on a journey to the core of a unique human experience that we have all encountered at some point in our lives.


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