Collarbone Coast

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.

-Job

(Oulipo poem based on excerpt from a 1st century B.C Chinese poem: The Orphan)

Watch it burn

That day

In LA

Jack burned

The contents of the bin

By the roadside

On the 405

Not because he was cold,

It was 100 degrees

In the shade,

But just to watch

It burn.

So after he lit her up

He stood there by

The roadside

While cars and trucks

Whizzed by,

On the 405,

Watching flames

And dirty smoke

Sputter a tower

Into a blue sky.

-Job