Lots

Cracked dice tumble down the alley

Tip toeing toward their final tally

Edges churn over rough surface

With randomly driven purpose


Trip trip down the cement

Dying pairs sing their lost lament

And new born couples boast their power

A presence shortly sweet and sour


Dot to faces and face to dots

Whole lives revolve on random lots

On the aimless dance quickly goes

As tense eyes eye the thrower's throw