Learning more, I know less,
my head of straw filled
with facts, trivia and stories,
an ever-expanding universe
of data and quarrelsome contradiction.
No longer can I afford
whiling away garden hours
chatting with flowers
since an information highway
has bypassed the Yellow Brick Road.
Not just a dummy counting crows,
my golden stuff can be spun
into more than thatch, hats,
baskets, bedding and biofuels
when knowing dances with imagination.
Time itself is ransacked,
and I’m stretched thin,
my stuffing tossed and spread,
a strawman locked in a frenetic quest
to know what needs to be known.