In the quiet of the night as the world slept
well into December, there were no spirits to dredge nor scars as such. I didn't have vices that demanded much. NON SUCH.

A few insomniacs  from my tribe burned fresh wicks of discontent as flickering light from static devices crept through half drawn sashes living rooms. But for me
Non Such.

Smell of sweet night grass and stilted Oleander,crickets startled into apnea.
Dogs sending smoke signals of solitary
illumination. But I, non such.
A pace of great deliberation.
Resounding over dated concrete tablets do mark my time in moonlite.
But peace of mind.Nonsuch.