Classic Poem

My mouth is an old useless tunnel
In which abandoned corroded railway tracks go in
But don't come out.

You are the light at the end
Of my mouth.

My face has turned brittle like a mummy's
When I try to take it off
It crumbles into million little pieces
On the floor.

Let me undo my hands
From my elbows
And offer them to you
In a dish full of oranges
And grapes.

Allow me to make a garland
Of my ten heads
Interwoven with
Sliced watermelons and pumpkins
For your neck.

Permit me to take out funeral procession
Of my brown eyes
And bury them in the backyard
Of your nipples.
I will wait for marigolds
To burst forth on their graves.