Old Tire

 

Once,

            --in some mad pain—

it was an old tire’s absence

killed my brother.

 

In the twisted eyes of our youth

we found everything.

On the day he died

            --perhaps I was growing older,

            and he

            distracted by the sound

            of his brother’s slowing down—

we stopped,

finding no old tire

to pair with mean rope.

 

Once,

            --in some mad pain—

my foot found

the naked side of a black hole.

I did not fall in. 

Reviews

[Tim McGovern]

"mean rope" makes all the difference in this.
Your style is precise and well thought out,almost mathematical, perhaps it's because I could never write anything this crystal that I find it so refreshing and, at times, almost breath taking.

Excellent work
Thank you

Namaste'
Tim

[Megan]

Wow, great poem. I enjoy the last moment the most-and the object. It was compelling.