Three poems published in Prime Number Journal in 2015

Regarding the Dead Lobster Found at 60th and Stark Street

I don't know why it's there either.  
His thick shell has turned maroon.
Flies circle the fetid patch of pavement.His feelers
Fell limp, green, down. He makes me think 
Of you. I'd like to laugh it off
As some schoolboy's gag. Instead, I recall 
The last time we spoke, when your eyes bulged with
Shock and your back clung to the barroom wall.

I would never leave a lobster thus, 
Restlessly pinching into the damp
Air that never offers breath...

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