Lubomír Tomik

Tvé srdce je hora daleko v oceánu,

už dávno jsem jako hřeb vytažený ,
z přídě,
už dávno zapustily hřeby z kříže jiné kořeny,

jsi v mlhách u pobřeží,
jsi drtivý magnet kovostýlu,
jsi žíla na svalu,

míháš se v námořnickém tričku kolem hrnce,
plném vyvařených žraločích čelistí,

jako Tvůj jazyk,
břitkých, jak Tvá mysl,
kolem krku.


Lubomír Tomik

Your heart is a mountain far in the ocean,

I have long been like a nail,
from the nose,
the roots of the cross have long since taken other roots,

you are in the fog by the coast,
you are a crushing magnet of a metal style,
you are a vein in a muscle,

you flicker in a navy shirt around the pot,
full of boiled shark jaws,

as your language,
razor blades like your mind
around the neck.

Rupes Nigra – Wikipedia

Pancake effect.


Palačinkový efekt.
/ pro Tebe /

Lubomír Tomik

okamžiky jsou palačinky
vrstvené na sebe,

okamžiky jsou víření poprav
při virblech,

Stan a Ollie se zastaví
a letící dorty zamrznou 
v okamžiku
a nikdy nedoletí,
palačinkový efekt.

Ty se zastavíš
a rty zamrznou v okamžiku pořízení fotografie,
nikdy mne nepolíbíš

už nikdy
nezavíříme palačinkovým efektem,
už nikdy,
Sladký džem 
tvých úst.

Pancake effect.
/ For You /

Lubomír Tomik

moments are pancakes
layered on top of each other,

moments are swirling executions
in sound of drums,

Stan and Ollie stop
and flying cakes freeze
in the moment
and never arrive,
pancake effect.

You stop
and lips freeze at the time the photo is taken,
you will never kiss me,

we do not close with a pancake effect,

don't taste
Sweet jam of
your mouth.

Večeře u Minského. Dinner at Minski´s.

Dinner at Minski´s. Read and recorded once for You, in Studio Shaark

Dinner at Minski´s.

Lubomír Tomik

She put her hand under the table on my thigh, 
still looking in front of her, talking to someone opposite,
I didn't know him.
the burnt meat of an Ethiopian tiger on plates,
 we both observe ourselves in the attitude of Aphrodite,

We watch the sweet asses are presented to the golden rain
I will use seven or eight tablespoons
servants bring on polished trays swallowing in Italian.

She put her hand under the top floor narrowing it down,
 it was a penguin's claw slowly sliding it inside,
 a salivating search inside the chest pressed against the lungs

She ran over the ribs, the grooves of her spine
it vibrated between a fan of air bubbles
there was nothing

suddenly, buch buch buch
not mine came up in the sky,
emerged from a hole in the moon from the veins of blood spewing blood,

stripes of earth in shades of steamed sweater
the clay grave is an indifferent time around
it just fails,

pieces of green flag torn in the morning
walled together in a narrow dream of exorcising the devil

Minski is coming.

Opens his mouth bites pieces of torso ,
asks what it is time ?

impersonal connection caress leaning against the metal wall of the toilet


She withdrew her soaked hand I opened my mouth
let everything be scanned,

that real sorrow deep down when it then rushes to the surface tears you to pieces,
feast of worms in the endless footsteps of the goddess of war,
the squeal of little pigs somewhere in the distance
under the sky obsessed with the farting of thunder.

And she covered my eyes with the same palm,
I was just another run
for dinner at Minski´s.

/from ,,Dinner at Minski´s and  other poems ", 2016/