We weave a fabric
So light that one
Stray
Opinion
Rends apart the work of millennia

(The Earth is round)

When the masses flow together
In a voracious river of consent
It is then that
A fact
Is born

(A lion’s roar can be heard from five miles away)

We know that there is
Nothing
Solid
To build our cosmoses on
Except for all the others

(The Atlantic Ocean is saltier than the Pacific)

Osmosis of truth
As the waterfall of life swings to our side
To balance consuming madness
With
Reality

(Nerve impulses travel at 170 miles per hour)

Only those who search for the sea
Understand: madness
Is a foaming cataract
Too familiar
For comfort

(The population of Afghanistan is twenty nine million one hundred twenty one thousand two hundred eighty six)

With one careless flick the lights are off
Reality’s face glows then
Subservient, malleable, a crowd-pleaser
Love me, he says
Or perish with me

(A tastebud lives for ten days)

And we spiral into the clouds
With words flitting
Like moths
Through the recesses of our minds

Inside and out
All the voices remind us:
This is

Nothing
(Kiwi birds are blind)
But
(A bear has 42 teeth)
The
(Rain drops fall at 7 miles per hour)
Truth