lobster man

thousands of hollow black shafts
of prickled bristled whiskers
slicing through the still air these
hollow whispers shape his name

fixed upon a rectangular orbiting
of forbidden language between
black and white and red
the exile was the making of him

The vacuous ocean of white moves
with collected gradual logic strong
ceaseless descent in pieces
and this one claw god takes form

as if his image could be the fullness
of being among mortals a half-brother
bump paddling in a fish tank
itching to announce itself