Immutastability

It shifts so subtly, your human world.
One morning the epicenter turns
Near the center of a continent.

The continent has no chance to shift
Before the human epicenter
Finds its new lynchpin on an island.

Another day, your world may revolve
Around a moon. A garage, someone’s
Elderly mother, a lost battle

In a minor, vile guerrilla war,
An offhand comment in a canyon—
Humanity is how the cosmos

Would be ordered without gravity,
A blubbery mess, a collection
Of tipping points, waves past all anchors.

The bodies and the technologies
Depend on each other to exist,
But they’re slippery and electric,

And while bodies haven’t changed much yet,
Technologies have infiltrated—
Who shall be organelles, who the cells?