Poem -

RETIRED ON A SPINNING DIME---- THE ANCIENT MINE

Dimes spinning in times eye
turning quarters counting the old man's rhyme
he rubs the callous palms crossed with silver
drenched in black calling mines
renegade pickets demanding freedoms
for the Angels crime
I see him cry but no tears
just falling broken chains

Spinning Dime clinks a dance
into the small shot glass
creased hearts form in regimented guard
diseased the smile
framed in a gallery face
timbers creak choirs of bone
She lifts a tormented decision
pours a required album of song
into the stuttering glacier of glass

nodding in dusted approval
he slams the stinging brown liquid
down a channel cruised by hard years

THE DIME SPINS
SLOWER NOW
AS LAUGHTER SLAUGHTERS
TODAYS QUIET PEACE