Auntie History reads Minturno
Its a pagan thing
Beauty is everywhere
But her hands are scarred
She’s the baker, the fishwife
The exile, the slave
She raises the book in her claws
Sees with exophthalmic eyes
That loveliness will cure you
If it doesn’t cause sickness
She has trouble turning pages
Toward the end so did Nietzsche
Who thought beauty was subjective
She smiles—
Neither shapes nor sounds
Or the black death
Were ever your own idea
Planet of the Blind 