I watch them bury truth alive, in their avalanche of ‘facts’,
with truth hid in the wilderness; out in the wilder tracts.
Not seen by those with lots of letters or titles so supreme
who pontificate with bullshit, of which they are the cream.
They know so many ‘facts’ in fact there’s no room left at all
to feel the real reality and to hear truth’s far off call.
Still they strut around and ‘know’ their words are always right
and any other notion or other truth at all is nothing but a blight.
Against stark reality that is their barren world so bleak
they know a world not made of numbers mus ten be so weak.
They have overrun the planet; they’re the vermin of our minds
and they rationalise away the wonder of all things that they find.

About a foolhardy florilegium

Nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri, quo me cumque rapit tempestas, deferor hospes.
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