It will certainly not take
another poem,
or comment thread,
or hand-wrung tear
of dim empathy
from me.
It may take nothing
from me, in fact,
except surrender
of whatever I have that
is only mine to offer:
my reserved place in line,
my nodding acceptance of it,
my learned willingness
to get along
by going along.
My fear-frozen tongue.
My centrality.
Dark Matter 
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