The realm your body has its own dictates.
It is (sd Olson) man’s first cause of wonder
how fast selectedness will rise in states
of unselectedness – no more the blunder
of ascribing to that lovely riding thing
chaos the primal cause of our condition.
There are sheer acts of knowing in the fing-
er tips, in tiny brains without volition
Such instincts in the cells create a grid,
a matrix which coordinates direction,
even when consciousness has slid
away into a hazy dereliction.
This ordinary of the body’s mass
the word may match but never can surpass.