Two short lines, and they carry a quiet joke. The title, "Anti-oulipo," points to Oulipo, the group of writers known for working under strict rules and constraints. This poem pushes the other way. The speaker says chance was their pen, as if accident did the writing, and an egg was their clock, as if time were measured by something fragile, round and unpredictable rather than by numbers on a dial.
The tone is playful and a little mischievous. There's no anger or heavy feeling here; the speaker seems pleased to hand control over to luck. An egg as a clock is a funny image, and it also suggests something that could hatch, crack or spoil, so time becomes organic and uncertain instead of tidy. Judging by the title, the poem is a small statement of method: write by openness and accident, not by formula. It's brief enough that the mood is mostly curiosity, with a light, wry sense of freedom.