Deception

At sunset, orange frescos on the west wall Sink gradually into the bowels of hills flung By distant wavelengths of a backward illusion, Which yells silently at concupiscent terns, Yodelling and returning from carnivals of the Wild. From the faint glow, a rainbow stretches For a cuddle, musing over a curious world, Ditched by diaphanous tarradiddles of the odd. Shadows on ground level travel on painted Tars, recreating their bosoms on surfaces Raven-black and soot-framed. Seagulls welcome waves in one cracked voice, Honking the horns of billed staccato. Among able-bodied patterns of bituminous tracks, Rivers, ponds, pools seek their faces on sun-flushed Mirrors, which laugh at their fatuous inclinations Mired by the sputum of drained rains.