Luckless

Tittle tattle

coins roll

at dawn,

heads, tails

rattle, rattle

six times 

repeated

synchronous

tellers of

fortune

raving at a 

gibbous moon

forlorn. 

She loves,

loves not,

for chance 

is but a 

drunken sot

and I must

live to mourn

my lot

dripping 

bitter tears

appalled

at crazed

hieroglyphs

stacked on

peeling walls

when luck

is riding

for a fall.