You Are the Bleeding Edge of Patterns

A quarter million atoms

Assemble each ribosome,

Switching states every second,

Hundreds or thousands of times.

Elucidation of this

Was a cultural triumph,

Although most nooks and crannies

Of culture remain wholly

Unaware of their triumph.

Nonetheless, your cells themselves,

Like the cells of so many

Other species, even some

Yet to be discovered, run

Smoothly on these engines,

Millions and millions of them,

Quarter million at a time,

Thousands of beats a second,

As you read these very lines.

The universe inside you

May be even scarier

In its organization

Than the universe outside

With its emptiness and fires.

Midway lies the precipice.