poem written by a dead poet poem

The dead poet picked up his right hand
And glued it back on.
The dog howled, furiously,
But the door was holding.
The dead poet sat down to write a poem.
He wrote a poem; he called it
"Poem written by a dead poet."
This is the poem:-

I am dead.
I don't care what you think of me.
I will confess all, shamelessly.
I hawked and spat in public.
I don't deny it.
I squeezed the fruit in the supermarket.
I picked my nose,
I kicked my cat.
I ate my snails
Alive and raw and screaming.
It was fun.
I regret nothing.

The dead poet smiled.
Then the dog broke down the door.