Turn it over to Munich.

 Lubomír Tomik

 The barrel of the pistol was an antler cake,
  the barrel of the pistol was a ticket to the ending show,
  the relentless itching of the skin dominated the cockpit,
  backrests soaked with malice.

 The parked crocodile set off,
  he ran after the prey,
  hungrily.

 Girl,
  a girl
  my darling,
  you are his sharp tooth
  you are his clenched jaw,
  you are everything and more.

 Oxygen jellyfish above me,
  they descend to the surface,
  mischievous devastation.

 Turn it over to Munich,
  turn it over to Munich,
  turn your eyes to me,
   turn it around.

 When the engines shut down,
  we are just uninvited guests on the Baalbek terrace, applauding.

 Turn your life to Munich,
   devastating distraction,
  Your beauty is boiling oil,
  flowing down the walls,
  squeaking skin, dancing in flytraps.

 Turn it over to Munich.
  She smiled, pulled the pilot lever toward her, the machine headed for the cool, freezing height,
  transiently
                and vigorously.

 Air… is not needed when I can breathe You,
 You.
  Something is hidden in the perception of time,
 something is hidden in the perception of time,
                                                           stray root.
 When the darkness opens,
  engulf us,
  we will go despite the time of laughter, we will go to the grove of Persephony,
  light rhythmic chants on the lips.

 You came down to me,
                                        from the star.

 Turn it to Munich or not!
  Turn it to the moon,
  we hang ourselves in a balloon basket on his crescent,
  we will spend our lives there, it is ground to dust,
  stray root,
  by swallowing the beating heart of the weasel,
  one can be closer to the Goddess,
  Goddess,
                                       Thee.
                                       Thee i worship now.

I wrote this poem for You, for reading in a special, special place.