Holes Not Whole Poem by Paul Moosberg

These blacken holes, might not be whole
Not one but two, or three could roll
Around the threads, that tie their stroll
These blacken holes, will own control

We’ll start off straight, from bang with fate
Some big old thing, left overweight
Around itself, will gravitate
And fall so fast, black holes await

Black holes in stride, take off to glide
Around others, they might collide
And break themselves, thus to divide
Then more to come, like stellar tide