Lightning in Berlin (unfinished)

Laughter like reality weeping through galleries, restaurants, parks, rooms and the night in rain 

Smoking through the distance of open windows swinging dangerous to heads 

Forked electrical skies falling around beer drinking sheltered cycle watchers, wowing 

Colourful and profound prongs fail to art as the separation, the lack, the terror is all we feel, The Wall, is always the Wall

Drenched legged water followers, tipping themselves down streets delirious from glassed intangible feet 

The Queen arrived in late night framing of our mirth, dancing like jesters in the hollow room of seriousness, then falling into night time

Berlin, pockets of everyday horror stepped over, looked upon but not seen, weeping from it’s fleshy miserable underside. We see the concrete, the whole, we are invisible tourists missing the tears of the soul.