I would like to argue that beauty is arbitrary.
Beauty is survival instinct: the sunrise
is beautiful because it gets warmer, the crops
can grow, and predators have nowhere to hide.
I would like to argue that you’re full of shit.
What about snow? It kills the crops
you freeze and starve and die, and yet
I find the snow-bound trees very attractive.
I would like to argue that if talking to yourself
is the first sign of madness
then staging a short debate with yourself
in 4-line iambic stanzas
must be the second.