Standing Outside

Standing outside all isms and ologies,
Naked am I when storms descend,
But fortunate, too, not being stuck
In a smoky cave or malodorous hut.
Crowds may gather for warmth, peace of mind, and such,
But then wrangling begins to tear them apart,
Force apart former allies, and in a trice
A structure collapses, or a huddler gets crushed
In the evermore cramped and moiling scrunch.
No, I say, better to lurk by the gates
And brush skin with en-massers as habit dictates
Than dive into an eel-pool, agitated and thrashing,
Where only anguilliforms feel comfy and happy.