Old Dogs


I feel it
almost the moment
that my head
hits the pillow
as the circumstances
the couch arm
phone book
or wadded jacket

a feeling
of peace
and easy inner calm
a sublime relaxation
reached by the awareness
that the day
is behind me
and nothing is left
to be accomplished
no additional dross
to be accumulated
nothing more required
of my meager resources
other than

it has become
a karmic center
in the good
and the bad
of my collection
of days

a relief
that arrives
even in the midst
of tragedy
and tribulation
to assuage the senses
allowing some precious time
to recoup and recover
a much needed balance
in the confusion
and chaos
of life

this time
seems sacrosanct
inviolable in the most
unfortunate and comfortable
of troubled times
when neither jail
boot camp
nor extreme isolation
can possibly deprive me
of its comforting

even a few minutes
in this tenuous refuge
seem sufficient
to stave off insanity
and allow a respite
from the world
of madness
about us

it is
a magical time
when one
has the freedom
to form
a mental sketchpad

where the eraser
is just as valid
and the lead

where the past
can be picked apart
and frankly analyzed
subject to rearrangement
in order to form a more
salubrious state
of present affairs

where the future
with its infinite
can be immobilized
in the concrete hopes
and desires
of tomorrow

this time
is truly our own
when outside demands
shrink in their importance
and threats are fantasies
easily defused
and discarded

becomes malleable
to be shaped
under the hammer
of human imagination
pounding a gilded path
that eventually leads
to a destination
of dreams