Untitled Ballad

The snail is becoming the rose again
Sacrifices created out of shoelaces, eyelashes fluttering
like propellers of hair
We rise to the metal-band clean and fragranced propoganda
Make us slippery, fresh from the plastic bag
May I lay down?
Too much, not enough
Bed sheets welcome me into the squared maples
Dream reoccuring, we can't open the book again, sealant put
its foot down.

Keep me closer than a piece of meat in your stomach
I want to develop my own mushroom garden, we'll permit weeds
and junkyard dishwashers
Just for a twist
No lemon salad because that's too outlandish
But pick my teeth just in case.