In the motel they sent me to draw waves,
But I didn’t find backwater.
My cracked hands were all shortages.
So I walked the collarbone coast
Treading on bottles and bread.
As I stopped to watch the daily punch-up
How black my heart was!
And I went on sobbing and sobbing.
In witness I have no great-cockfight left,
No sunhat, a thin coach jacket.
My handicrafts are all soundtrack.
It is a pledge to be alive.
But I had rather quickly leave the eating.
(Oulipo poem based on excerpt from a 1st century B.C Chinese poem: The Orphan)