we were born rational

I am a cold, surgical knife
Sterile
Glist'ning in the professional
White lights
Ready to cut myself open
To bleed me dry of
Every last feeling
That should impede the trains of logic
I shall be the perfect
Tool, precise
To three significant figures
Purely mathematical
With unwavering conclusiveness
Backed by pertinant evidence
Like the surety of trained hands
Specific and
Empirically tested
With all soundness and cogency
I am a cold surgeon.