the new times

Gustaf Munch-Petersen: Naked Human

it is life,

where ice-cold downpours whip the earth clean

and free of dirt,

where lightnings spread the shady fogs,

which cover the old shit, in the dark rooms –

it is life,

when the unhealthy, pale amphibians,

which lurk with red eyes,

shrink and crack

in the sun’s burning, honest light –

we hate a life in lavender smell

with gossip mirrors and three pairs of skirts –

noble lords with whores in the night

and horse hooves in spats –

we want transparent clarity,

we want to see, what there is,

for we know,

that esprit and ethics and virgin birth

is delicacies for castrates –

we know, that one room is enough for two,

petroleum oven and bread with fat,

and one bed, if they love each other –

we know, how eros is,

and how she looks under the clothes –

we know, that the old and musty corpses

stink worse

than those, who have dried in the sun –

come out, |

come out from the warm and sour air,

which is full of the smell of stolen meat-bones

and drifting heavy

with the spit of whispering lips

or stay in there

and choke yourselves

in your own poisonous breath –

we will use you,

we will strew you out over our meager earth

to fertilize the weak plants –

and when once our fruits ripen,

the air is clean. –