Kevin Carter at Area 51?

This is a moderate rewrite of something I worked on last night.

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Eyeless, mindless,
they walk through the desert.
They lope along together
between the cactuses,
their bare feet scraping along the scorching sand.

They are strange-looking things -
they are low to the ground, short-legged,
bumpy and blueish, with peuse warts
and fleshy, spiny flaps of skin
on their heads and shoulders.
They are not really as intimidating
as some of the monsters I've seen and shot,
but they are unbelievably ugly, and equally dumb.

They don't know I'm watching them,
but they can't see and they probably can't think,
so I'm at somewhat of an advantage.
I saw them charge and claw and slash their way
to a freedom they did not know they wanted.
I saw them tear down the fences
and the unsuspecting soldiers
of the base. I got a bunch of good pictures.
I didn't intervene. I never do.
I just aim and click.

But anyway, now they're out in the open world,
and they're heading towards the interstate,
though they have no idea that they are.
Maybe they'll make it to the casinos,
or to some small unsuspecting Nevadan town
where they'll inspire a graphic novel or two,
or maybe they'll just get hit by a speeding semi
and the government won't have to look into any,
what do they call it, "damage control."
Who can really say? I certainly can't.
I'm just a photographer.
I've got what I need.