Best Fastball Poems

Blustering snowballs, Batman,
it's cold enough to blubber

blast the titanic iceberg
from its frozen handshake.

But snowballs that ain’t
formed; fine powdery dust

billowing ‘neath the core, of not hell,
but the moat of the ice queen’s castle.

Frozen icicles, Batman,
drip from nostrils and lips,

welcoming a brew of nog to noggin,
or toddy...

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