The first day of autumn.

The first day of autumn.

Lubomír Tomik

On the first day of autumn, I feasted on a bat
he was bitter and chewing didn't seem to help.

She offered to help
bit, twitched her head, and didn't want to let go
tore

She thought as she did so
above the tattoo directly on Her heart muscle

It would stand there:

BROKEN 
From the collection of poems ,, Bowel of fancy fish“ /2017/

I published the poem in Czech, not in English, had it on an old blog before it was canceled..so..it is my page, I am a poet and so publish .. in another language … brokenly, maybe wrong, … .This is my reality … I can write in it that I love you and nothing matters …. don’t care how it turns out …… so published poem and love you, girl, forever

Empty corridors. Prázdné chodby.



Empty corridors.

Lubomír Tomik

Empty corridors,
glowing oranges on the wall,
otherwise dark,
off,

there is no such thing as an easy victory,
there is no such thing

after each attack
there are days without you,
rows of trenches,
rows of crosses,
rows of food for machine guns of life,

so what if i worship you
so what

you know how hard it is
with my imagination,
don’t think about
You in someone else’s arms,
every second
it’s like a disease
on which there is no cure,

which was,
empty corridors,
places without return,
somewhere in the distance,
in deep lakes and beyond,
Your scared smile.

Prázdné chodby.

Lubomír Tomik

Prázdné chodby,
na stěně dál žhnoucí pomeranče,
jinak tma,
zhasnuto,

není nic takového jako snadné vítězství,
nic takového neexistuje

po každém útoku
jsou tady dny bez Tebe,
řady zákopů,
řady křížů,
řady potravy pro kulomety života,

no a co když Tě uctívám,
no a co

víš jak je to těžké,
s mou představivostí,
nemyslet na
Tebe v náručí někoho jiného,
každou vteřinu,
je to jako nemoc,
na níž není lék,

co zbylo,
prázdné koridory,
místa bez návratu,
někde v dálce,
v jezerech hlubokých a dál
Tvůj vyděšený úsměv.

Archimedes statue. Archimédova socha.





Archimedes statue.

Lubomír Tomik

Bronze,
 took to the streets today,
tripped over morbid dreams thrown into lives,
mobile dreams of a tanks on wheels,
shit s.u.v,

unnecessary bandas with milk lam,
she tripped
there,
where everyone wanted to be exceptional,
nobody wanted to be a target,

why do Your arrows hit me with unprecedented accuracy,

I pulled a rope into the streets
and first I wanted to send statue to the ground,
but why,

let it pass
let the body compress the disgust to the size of sardine boxes
let it be just us
and tanks to devour the junkyard,
let it be just us
and not a square monster box,

you want to prove how special you are
lift your ass and do something

and don't wait for death in a tin box,
 when you're old, 
you can only get in a wooden car or a parked urn anyway,
parked on all the time of the world.
Archimédova socha.

Lubomír Tomik

Bronzová,
vyrazila si do ulic dneška,
zakopávala  o morbidní sny vrhnuté do životů,
mobilní sny o  tancích na kolech,
posraná s.u.v,

nepotřebné bandasky s mlékem lam,

zakopávala,
tam 
kde všichni chtěli být vyjímeční,
nikdo nechtěl být terč,

proč jen mne zasahují Tvé šípy s nevídanou přesností,

natáhnul jsem do ulic lana
a nejdřív jsem ji chtěl poslat k zemi, 
ale proč,
ať se projde,
ať slisuje karosérie hnusu do velikosti  krabiček od sardinek
ať jsem to jen my
a tanky ať sežerou vrakoviště,
ať jsme to jen my,
a ne hranaté monstr krabice , 

chceš si dokázat jak jsi jedinečný,
zvedni prdel , něco dělej,
a nečekej na smrt v plechové krabici, 
až zestárneš, 
stejně se vlezeš jen do povozu ze dřeva, 
nebo napořád zaparkované urny.

Under the white blouse.

Under the white blouse.

Lubomír Tomik

under the white blouse are the towers of medieval castles,
bombarded by beautiful bodies of courtesans full of plague ulcers,

under a white blouse pulled to the body by the tenderness of warm palms,
cohorts fluttering in the wind,

 preparing to attack,
                                  waving delicate features of lipstick,

under the white blouse are the towers of medieval castles
ready to succumb.

The Queen hurried to the walls,
palms on temples, eyes narrowed,
into memories printed memories of You.

She will take my hand and turn around. 

/from the collection of poems ,,Bowl of fancy fish.“ /2017/ on the cover Sylvia Plath on the beach…once

I do not understand.

I do not understand.

Lubomír Tomik

-I don't understand, I'm sorry.-
said the beard man ,

when I imagine someone tying a bow around your neck
and You like it,

I'm like him 

I see your eyes
out of breath,
heartbeat

I'd rob You like a bank,
 left all the gold in the safes,
I wouldn't take anything
only your soul
every moment would be a condensed eternity,
forever,

-I don't understand, I'm sorry.-
said the beard man. 

I'm like him , sorry, my love,
 I'm old,
 I'm useless
I don't understand ,why you didn't leave me die 


Nerozumím.

Lubomír Tomik

-Nerozumím, je mi to líto.-
řekl vousáč,

když si představím jak Ti někdo váže kolem krku mašli
a Tobě se to líbí,

vidím Tvé oči,
zbavené dechu,
tlukotu srdce,

vyloupil bych Tě jako banku,
všechno zlato nechal v trezorech,
nevzal bych si nic, 
jen Tvou duši
každý okamžik by byl zhuštěnou věčností,
navždy,

-Nerozumím, je mi to líto.-
řekl vousáč.
jsem jako on,

starý,
k ničemu,
nerozumím tomu, proč jsi mne nenechala. zemřít

Perception of time

Perception of time.

Lubomír Tomik

chewing
               barbed wire,
respiration,
                without You,
I'm the biggest bastard and selfish and idiot
because-

  I just want YOU for myself

You are the most beautiful avalanche
deadly hug,

You are squeezing the whistles of millions of syringes,
flickering and movement at short intervals,

inexhaustible,
a well in the desert

You say goodbye times a trillion,
every time

i love the Goddess in Irish pajamas,
anything
or nothing. 
Vnímání času.

Lubomír Tomik

žvýkání
              ostnatého drátu,
dýchaní,
               bez Tebe,
jsem ten největší parchant a sobec a hajzl-
protože- 

 chci Tě jen pro sebe

jsi ta nejkrásnější lavina
smrtící objetí,

jsi stlačování pístů milionů injekčních stříkaček,
blikání a pohyb v krátkých intervalech,

nevyčerpatelná,
studna v poušti,

jsi loučení krát bilion,
                                     pokaždé,

má Bohyně v Irském pyžamu,
čemkoli,
nebo ničem.

Alley. Alej.

written for You , now,directly, in front of the alley in the photo

Alej.
/Pro V./

Lubomír Tomik

na konci aleje čekáš Ty,
vzpomínky jsou blednoucí obrazy ve starých obnošených rámech

na konci hrotů ptačích per,
chodci ,lidé, míhají se sem a tam,
šmouhy životů
vzpomínky jsou ostrovy a mořská hladina stoupá
výš a výš

zakrátko
se stane dnem v hlubinách 
i Tvůj úsměv,

oči které umí pálit salvu Kaťuš,
salvu za salvou na konci aleje,
proč jsem Ti musel tak propadnout,
jako peklu,
jako naostřenému,
Ganéšově klu,
proč
Karviná, Park Boženy Němcové
Alley.

/Pro V./
Lubomír Tomik

You are waiting at the end of the alley
memories are fading paintings in old worn frames

at the end of the tips of bird feathers,
pedestrians, people, flickering here and there,
smudges of lives
memories are islands and sea levels are rising
higher and higher

soon
becomes the bottom in the depth Your smile,

eyes that can burn a volley of Katyusha,
volley after volley at the end of the alley,
why did i have to fail YOU so much
like hell

as sharpened
Ganesha's tusk,
why 

Konec. The end.


End.

Lubomír Tomik

SOS. into emptiness,
silent arctic stations without return,

  light buoys at the cliffs,
  stopped signaling "Attention, Horror, Attention"

anemones of your quiet lips,
azure temptation

closed eyes,
silhouettes on the walls,

lack of you

open eyes
silhouettes in the castle grounds looking up

it's all over
the end is as salty as your skin,
rising Sun,
blooming roses. 
Konec.

Lubomír Tomik

S.O.S. do prázdnoty,
mlčící arktické stanice bez návratu,

 světelné bóje u útesů,
 přestaly signalizovat ,,Pozor, Hrůza, Pozor"

sasanky Tvých ztichlých rtů,
blankytné pokušení

zavřené oči,
siluety na hradbách,

nedostatek Tebe,

otevřené oči,
siluety v podhradí vzhlížející vzhůru na mne,

to vše je konec,
konec slaný jako Tvá kůže,
vycházející slunce,
odkvétající růže.

Je to tady.

Krmení.
Read and recorded once for You, my love in Studio Shaark

KONEC.



Napsáno  podzim  2015 -jaro 2016.


                               "I have crossed the seas, I have left cities behind me, 
and I have followed the source of rivers towards their 
source or plunged into forests, always making for other 
cities. I have had women, I have fought with men ; and 
I could never turn back any more than a record can spin 
in reverse. And all that was leading me where ? 
To this very moment..." 

[Jean Paul Sartre "Nausea"]
                                                              
Krmení daňků.
The end of the Dinner at Minski´s /2016/ The end of DARKov.

How do You taste, my love ?

/2017/

How do you taste?


Lubomír Tomik


Bittersweet,
like just cooked hot orange jam?

Ringing,
when the teeth behind the lips collide?

Heatedly,
like a cigarette you threw on the sidewalk?

The tongues goes out,
pressed together,
                                                    ready to plunder. 
from Alan Moore and Melinda Gebbie graphic novel ,,Lost girls“
Jak chutnáš ?

Lubomír Tomik


Hořkosladce,
jako právě uvařený horký pomerančový džem?

Zvonivě,
když zuby za rty narazí na sebe ?

Ohnivě,
jako cigareta ,kterou jsi odhodila na chodník ?

Jazyky vyrazí,
přitisknuti k sobě,
připraveni rabovat.

Puppeteer. Loutkář.

Puppeteer.

Lubomír Tomik

the puppeteer took a knife and slowly, almost gracefully,
 cut the threads
and puppets
unknowingly set out into the world,
loosely,

the liquid from the mug fell to the ground,
magic lamp oil,
fuel ... no,
nothing important. 

Just ...You.
Loutkář.

Lubomír Tomik

loutkář vzal nůž a pomalu, skoro ladně,
přestříhal nitky
a loutky 
se nevědomky vydaly do světa,
volné,

tekutina z hrnku dopadla na zem,
olej kouzelných lamp,
palivo ...ne,
nic důležitého.

Jen ...Ty.

Holidays of the dead and pulling beets.

Holidays of the dead and pulling beets.

Lubomír Tomik




Time burns like a wick of a dynamite cartridge

under the rushing clouds,

silence of the Antarctic plains

ties  hands,

YOU.

from the collectons of poem ,,Veronica“ /2017/

Svátky zemřelých a tahání řepy.

Lubomír Tomik



Čas hoří jako doutnák
dynamitové patrony
pod spěchajícími mraky
,
ticho antarktických plání
Ti 
svazuje ruce.

ze sbírky ,,Veronica“ /2017/

Anneke Van Giersbergen & Danny Cavanagh – Untouchable 2

Why I should feel this way?
Why I should feel this way?
Why I should feel the same?

Is something I cannot say
Is something I cannot say
Is something I can't explain

I feel you
Outside at the edge of my life
I see you
Walk by at the edge of my sight

Why I should follow my heart?
Why I should follow my heart?
Why I should fall apart?

Why I should follow my dreams?
Why I should follow my dreams?
Why I should be at peace?

I feel you
Outside at the edge of my life
I see you
Walk by at the edge of my sight

I had to let you go
To the setting sun
I had to let you go
And find a way back home

When I dream all I see is you
When I dream all I see is..

I never seen a light that's so bright

I never seen a light that's so bright

I never seen a light that's so bright

Blinded by the light that's inside
Blinded by the light that's inside
Blinded by the light that's inside you

Žhnoucí maso Evy…servírované na dva způsoby.

Yvette Mimieux
Words : L.T , Improvised by D.O. and J.M , in DARKov, 20.4.21 …what happened at time 00:40 was … pure MAGIC
the goal was everything
hot meat of Eve
Eva's hot meat tasted good
desolate uncultivated paradise

the goal was everything
Eva's hot meat tasted good
the goal was everything
desolate uncultivated paradise...

Read and recorded my poem ,,Žhnoucí maso Evy “ for You here :
The glowing flesh of Eve.
/For You/

Lubomír Tomik

During the mouth opening ritual
you put Eve's meat in me,
the glowing flesh of Eve.

After the monster you sat down and tamed the traces remained in the snow,
you still parked inside,
Scarlet woman with eyes of time,
from the past still staring at me,
wide open,
according to the old magical tradition, I see myself in my counterpart.

I see YOU.

Alchemists walked in
Red robes
Symbol, the wind howling around the banner

Past
Hunger
Intimacy
Lavender
Of fire
Silent ,the words of the order in Artemis
Odysseus in Antarctica
Pour bees fly by the ferry before the flood
Hell ports
Isis of the Wheel
Calendar
Androgyn,

the goal was Everything,
tasted good,
hot meat of Eve. 
…behind the church in Orlová

Then when you return home alone

Read and Recorded for You in Studio Shaark from the collectios of poem ,,Večeře u Minského . /2016/
Then when you return home alone

Lubomír Tomik

Then when you return home alone
in the middle of the road, a girl is attacking, kicking one cone 
 a pine cone rolling down the street
it looks like the girl
  he is seriously thinking about something,
Her heart
 seems to hurt. 

Season of predators

Season of predators

Lubomír Tomik and Aleš Vencel

They set off, red eyes squinting into the night,
when they had lurked at the bottom of a ditch, driven into the muddy tracks of dead crustaceans,

they ended up in the arms of a girl hungry for the rustling of money,
ended up tuning radio Luxembourg ,,
twisting of the nipple buttons with salivated fingers,

they ended up in the hand of a whore who was breaking brick
brain, lightning couple,

they ended up in the algae of deep waters,
beautiful lakes,

they ended up faded washed, bells in New Orleans
  say softly and quietly: Noon. ,
blue jeans read the flash of a piece of white ass ,,
they ended up dusting the path along the way
a silk kiss,

they ended up dancing fans
in Lucretia, the whistling of helicopter rotors
over the jungle monotonous wild roses
full of moisture,
ended up dissected in the hyena of the abdomen,
red tablecloths, burqas crying softly,

they ended up without legs for a while, driving cars
across dusk, they lost everything, hulls, dreams
and crying and feeling,

they ended up pounding the hammers of a rock stove with the winking Frank Sinatra
punched in the eyebrows

they ended up in mushrooms in Alice's hats,
covered disgrace of holidays until dawn spits out and
it fades away, the pain is absorbed,
end up stuck on the hooks of freezing fishing boats,
six hundred minutes from inside the earth to hell with it all,
stay home and look in the mirror, red blood cell catching
by air molecules,

they ended up knocked down by a fantasy train, meat collected by drunk trainers for a bottle of rum,
baked in remosce together with pieces of run over cats,

they ended up being sucked out by the rough moon, the fever drove out the thermometer
to the explosion of mercury, ended up asleep, lifting skirts in
of raided carriages in empty hollows of lichens, overeating
the honey of your mouth the tooth enamel of an absolute darling,

they ended up in the art of listening to the sun, the wings of the wings, the kings of this land,
a tear on your face,

they ended up flying on cannonballs, engulfed by monsters in storms, monsters themselves,
maturing in the depths of the neglect of neglected data, harnessed to the reins of dreams,

they ended up in the shade of the intervention, all that was left of the queen was smoke, a pistol against his forehead
pistol against forehead,
shot!

 light year before the bullet shatters the skull

II.
beautiful, in the rain, in the rain, hair punished by strands of tenderness,
beautiful, arched eyes in the sky,
beautiful,
breasts, lips, ass
beautiful

III.
tide too fragrant,
hurricane whispers come on come on
sounds like a whistling color of wild roses
we are all dead, dead, dead
the season of predators is over.

Beautiful, you are.

You
           are. 

Tým, který nevyhrál.

Najednou jsem v týmu, který nevyhrál, jen jsme přežili. Člověka to změní, když najednou…operace,transplantace,invalidní vozík,jizvy,báječná kamarádka bolest…mohl to být kdokoli a jsme to my, tři lidé, kteří vidí život z jiné perspektivy než Vy, zajímavý úhel pohledu.
Změní hodně věcí.

First day.

První den nového života…okamžitě se přehnala vlna náhod, synchronicit, naše číslo,události, zprávy, cesta do Polska,potvrzení toho všeho , kdo by si pomyslel a vše přichází samo,Tarot, Císařovna,Velekněz,Uskutečnění,Blázen

The first day of new life… immediately a wave of coincidences, synchronicities, our number, events, news, a trip to Poland, confirmation of everything, who would think and everything comes on its own, Tarot,Crowley, Empress, High Priest, Realization,Fool

Pasení černých sfing

Pasení černých sfing . Read and recorded for You, my Everything ,18.4.21 in Orlová
Read right here…at the grave…by the church Náhrobek Richarda sv. p. z Mattencloitu, Orlová (hrady.cz)

Grazing black sphinxes.

Lubomír Tomik

It was light,
the shepherd was restless,
he dreamed of you all night,
rotten canned dreams suddenly came to life with new colors,
come alive with the world, with worldly light,
mysterious weddings spinning like crazy unstoppable carousels,

ebony sphinxes circled the lamb,
soothed him
soothed with their demonic bubbling voices,
before they tore him to pieces,
they were fighting over which one to roar from the roaring lamb
a larger piece of meat,
just like You tore me apart
blood tests,
skin,
guts,

red blood running down the polished ebony,
You're beautiful. 
Kostel Narození Panny Marie (Orlová) – Wikipedie (wikipedia.org)

Skull top.

Skull top.

Lubomír Tomik

The woman was standing in front of the top of skull,
rising in the fading outgoing sun,
legs were just an idea,

looking up eagerly,
 withdrew the rusting loincloth with her hand,
harlot
went to work

in the distance was the sound of sheep in the valley,
nearby,
 escaped someone with pursed lips,
faint moaning
                                                          of pleasure. 

I want You.
Vrcholek lebky.

Lubomír Tomik

Žena stála před vrcholkem lebky,
v slábnoucím odcházejícím slunci stoupala nahoru, 
nohy byly už jen myšlenkou,

nedočkavá vzhlédla ,
stáhla rukou rezavějící bederní roušku ,
nevěstka
se dala do práce,

z dálky se údolím rozléhal bekot ovcí,
nablízku ,
někomu unikl  rozpraskanými rty zvuk,
slabé sténání
                                                         rozkoše.

Chci Tě.

Put him in a shallow grave.

Read and recorded For You once in Studio Shaark i read poem from the ,,Dinner at Minski´s“ /2016/

Put him in a shallow grave.

Lubomír Tomik




put him down
  to a shallow grave

dusty dogs feel easy prey
put him down
  to a shallow grave

under the sky swept by the painter's brush into red
put ME down

to a shallow grave 

Herci a bary.

Dnes naposled zákrok rázovou vlnou Léčba rázovou vlnou zasáhne i hluboko ve tkáni | Plus (rozhlas.cz) na roztříštěné koleno, šikovný terapeut Tomáš odložil sbíječku, ptám se, jak silný byl tlak , řekne že to bylo 2 bary a 16 herců.

Bolí to jako svině, i tak se oba rozesmějeme.

2 bary. 16 herců.

Vchází Oldřich Nový s Natašou Gollovou.

A desolate, uncultivated paradise.

První přepis nahrávání 20.4.21, je to …protože na nahrávku stříhám video, slyšel jsem záznam asi milionkrát…přepisuji ho kvůli překladu do angličtiny a :

A desolate, uncultivated paradise.

words: Lubomír T.
read and improvise: Dagmar O. and Jitka M.

recorded 20.4.21 in DARKov


the goal was everything
hot meat of Eve
Eva's hot meat tasted good
desolate uncultivated paradise
the goal was everything
Eva's hot meat tasted good
the goal was everything
desolate uncultivated paradise


hot meat of Eve
the goal was everything
a desolate, uncultivated paradise
the glowing flesh of Eve

did Eva's hot meat taste?
and the goal was everything?
hot meat of Eve!
desolate uncultivated paradise!
and the goal was everything!

Eva's hot meat tasted good

It tasted good.
                      It tasted good.
It tasted good.
                      It tasted good.

Eve's hot meat.
Eve's hot meat.

Eva's hot meat tasted good
Eva's hot meat tasted good 

Ano.

Review of Lost Girls by Alan Moore and Melinda Gebbie…..By Philip Sandifer

Dočteno podruhé…podruhé jsem se ztratil v poli vlčích máků, Alanově vyprávění, Melindiných obrazech…v Tobě, protože jsi zároveň byla se mnou při čtení a tanci očí na každé stránce.

Review of Lost Girls by Alan Moore and Melinda Gebbie (ufl.edu)

Stufio, ruler of the side streets.

River Dunaj in Vienna
Stufio, ruler of the side streets. Read and record For You in Studio Shaark From the collections of poems ,,Dinner at Minski´s /2019/
Stufio, ruler of the side streets.

Lubomír Tomik

Shortly after the end of the war
they come from Vienna

three
four
per day

mostly naked and tied to a goat,
hands around the neck
they do not bury them.

They let them go downstream,
like some puffy and pale,
mysterious,
toy boats.
Soung engineer Pavel Hlavica in Studio Shaark

What are you not telling me?

What are You not telling me?

Lubomír Tomik

What I don't know are boxing gloves,
glued pieces of glass,

what You're not telling me
are execution squads of ideas,

I wake up to the strict commands of executioners from the panopticon of days,
barking machine gun,
whistling bullets,
falling into a pit,
greasy clay pits,
after rain full of water,

-Splash! -
and it's not Daryl Hannah

-Another splash "and it's not aging Tom Hanks,

Daryl has nothing to do with it,
what I don't know are the feet in the concrete at the docks,
  heavy,
motionless,

my Everything.


Co mi neříkáš.

Lubomír Tomik

To co nevím, jsou boxerské rukavice ,
polepené kusy skla,

to co mi neříkáš
jsou popravčí čety myšlenek,
budím se do přísných povelů katů z panoptika dnů,
štěkání kulometu
hvízdání kulek,
pád do jámy,
mazlavé hlíny jámy,
po dešti plné vody,

-Šplouch !-
a není to Daryl Hannah

-Další šplouch „ a není to stárnoucí Tom Hanks,
Daryl s tím nemá nic společného,

to co nevím jsou nohy v betonu u přístavních hrází,
 těžké,
bez hnutí,

mé Všechno.

Soft words about the end.

Read and recorded for You once in Studio Shaark , behind glass is sound engineer Pavel Hlavica…echoes on end of the poem is his work, thanks.
Words.

Soft words about the end.

Lubomír Tomik

You're hovering over an ice field,
silent scars cut into the body of the snow

  I haven't known you in a long time,
blood drew soft words in the snow
about the end,

suddenly You are everywhere
and the story begins. 

from the ,, Dinner at Minski´s and other poems / 2O16 /

sorrow. Žal.

sorrow.


Lubomír Tomik


sorrow
gallop
sheaves of rain
neatly tied

sorrow
gallop
horse hooves
 asked for the journey

She said:
A land without you
copy flight level
waves of Lake Bina,
You are magical, You are direct

perhaps.

-I'm A Grief Bird. - said J.K.,
wrinkles fall to the ground,
 took root and fell asleep.

sorrow
gallop
heat for a while,
cursed
                sexappeal. 
žal.

Lubomír Tomik

žal
cval
snopy deště
úhledně svázal

žal 
cval
kopyt koní
na cestu se tázal

Řekla:
-Krajinou bez tebe,
kopírovat letem hladinu,
vlny jezera Bina,-
jsi kouzelná, jsi přímá

snad.

-Jsem Pták Žal. – řekl J.K.  
vrásky se sesypaly na zem,
zapustil kořeny a usnul.

žal 
cval
žár chvil,
prokletý 
               sexappeal.

A child from behind the oven.

Read and recorded For You once in Studio Shaark , my love, from collections of poems with You on the front page… THE Name of THE Beauty. Behind the glass is sound engineer Pavel.
The baby from behind the oven.

/according to an old Irish legend /

Lubomír Tomik

The baby from behind the oven,
the baby is not mine

the baby from behind the oven,
teeth of appreciation

which Devil exchanged you for me,
which Goblin took the handle

and a little elf behind the furnace,
 didn't even dare with fear .
Changeling – Wikipedia

Shades of Iodine.

Shades of Iodine.

Lubomír Tomik

I will write                      You
merging in shades of Iodine

I will write                      You
smoldering after a fire

I will write you
in the serpentines of deep lakes

sketched in the colors of the setting sun,
I inhale                            You,

every
second

every
  cell of the
body

You,
a long-lost castle at the bottom of the seas,
where the light does not penetrate. 
Odstíny Jódu.

Lubomír Tomik

napíši si Tě, 
splývající v odstínech jódu

napíši si Tě,
doutnající po požáru

napíši si Tě,
v serpentýnách jezer hlubokých

načrtnutou barvami zapadajícího slunce,
inhaluji Tě,

každou
vteřinou

každou
 buňkou 
těla

Tebe,
dávno ztracený zámek na dně moří,
kam světlo nedohlédne.

The world is unexpected.

Svět je nečekaný.

Lubomír Tomik

zasypou tě zářivky,
trubice ze srdce stropů

lví hřívy reality,
do nichž se dá ulehnout
a spustit

s

e

b

e

v

r

a

ž

e

d

stroje siesty.

El funeral de un vikingo, por Frank Dicksee.jpg
The world is unexpected.

Lubomír Tomik

the fluorescent lights will cover you,
tube from the heart of the ceilings

lion manes of reality,
into which it is possible to lie down
and run

k
i
l
l
i
ng 

s
u
i
c
i
des

ma
chi
nes 

of
siesta 

Reservoirs on the tops of the hills.

Vodojemy na vrcholcích kopců. Read and recorded 18.4.21 u Kostela Narození Panny Marie v Orlové, pro Tebe.
Right here.
Reservoirs on the tops of the hills.
/for You/

Lubomír Tomik

The beards of dark tentacles follow You,
rare moments like flying moths
 burn in lamps leading to the tops of hills.


the smell of rainbow
heartbeat

the smell of the rainbow
heartbeat

the smell of the rainbow
heartbeat

the smell of the rainbow
which You will wear today

and in the distance at dusk
 then
dancing and singing,

under
reservoirs
on the tops of the hills. 

Kostel Narození Panny Marie (Orlová) – Wikipedie (wikipedia.org)