From world milieu ourselves withdraw
The funds of individuality
All wrapped in dermal packaging;
The brains and bones and guts and blood
Conjoined for sensuality.
The membrane skin with holes for ports,
Where sense and substance travel through
Responds to pressures in and out.
It isolates the point in time
That splits the old off from the new.
This point in time that indicates
Where I and eye sits through the storm
To sift, select and designate
The matter and the energy
That gives the world intent and form.
It seems to choose the way it goes,
But choice is made with motivation,
Not random, but conditioned by
The structure made with past constraints.
No fluke, but iron instigation.
Therefor this witted witness rides
A steed it can’t control, subdue,
Through tides of time on lines of space
Down destined avenues to race.
Merely, just a point of view.