Dark and, Like, Abstract Positivity, I’d Say—Perhaps a New Subculture—You Know?

I was living in the middle of it all, which
results in me not
looking in, looking out, as
I was living in the middle of it all:
I wanted some particular pieces
conducive to the temperature of the middle
of us all, which would keep us all safe. But I have
a bad cold—a chip on my shoulder; though it is the right kind

of chip as I am getting older
and remaining in the middle with cold feet, my fingers
pointing in towards my palms: this is not
knuckle dragging. This is coming from compassion.
It is the other particulars that know nothing; and so
we shall give them nothing to work with, unless
they come forward with some impossible
foresight first: I know

they cannot have this, because I know
how it feels to have a body turning inward:
I am beginning to sense where they come from—
my hands; and it is not yet
in the library. And I keep screaming over the wall
at what isn’t there: it is desperate and hoping too much—
forget it; it is easier living in the middle
with middle sounds and slight ticks.