Hiding in garage

there is something hiding in the garage,

the clustered space dominated by car,

delusion of something true, like mirage,

.

shielding this present time, by a barrage

from the bombardments, of objects bizarre,

which are something hiding in the garage,

.

enclosing nasal holes, this entourage

of spicy scents of Arabian bazaar,

delusion of something true, like mirage,

.

flowering like an old lady’s corsage,

from somewhere appears, an image of tsar

who is somebody hiding in garage,

.

steam wafts, like from a parlour of massage,

mist, fog, haze, I can smell smoke of cigar,

delusion of something true, like mirage,

.

it is but quite a wide ranging montage,

my eyes clouded in the twinkle of stars,

I am somebody hiding in garage,

a delusion of something, like mirage

.

This is tagged as the poem for 18 November for NaBloPoMo.

Image source