Jaromír Typlt Poems

In that book you haven't written,
there was one who kept repeating,
"get lost through the back door."
...

I lie
at the bottom
of hardly hearable
rattles and thrums.
...

I write about it
yet I don't want to think of it

I have no idea
why I always cling to one word
...

Once our hounds join in packs
and trembling, with dark doggedness, yield
to the laws of the Eternal Escape
coming to a halt only seldom
...