Pour that Syrup over Grießmühle

We uttered “I love you” in the basement of a church 

Not in matrimony, but in ecstasy. 


A belly bag in that bathroom. Süssigkeiten 

Melting into our anatomy.


There’s a parade in Detroit today 

Lust and passion bursting, ripping the stitches


From the backs, patched and raw and chafed

Holding our cathedral afloat, propelling it into the future. 


The remnants of a commodified dream lingering, a vision, a converted bus 

Feierabend. On the walk to the train from work, a terrace 


Just barely extending out of that tepid water 

Buoyant in its domination. Refusal to reflect.


I hope you wear black. I hope you stomp your feet.

And you leave without a view into your dilated pupils 


I hope you think not to think 

That it tickles your brain and aches in your wrists 


I hope Shazam makes your ears bleed and you play it next weekend

Your mouth masticating on something you just can’t quite reach


Is it really there if you can’t feel it? Just the absence of it.

Stand on those speakers, bitch. Give Maria your clothes. Consume immaculately.


Don’t think. It doesn’t hurt. 

The Nation and the Fusion and the sudden-ness of the Sea. 


Don’t you dare consider where it comes from, the irregularity you hold so dear. 

It might just make you think.

Written by Adri Rocks



Author: Adri Rocks @arockspoetry

Artwork: Anne-Marie Dimanche @amdfwu