at ninety miles a snowflake

it's a long smidgeon of coils wrapped around your hurdy-gurdy
and always the thimble bees, twisting curious tales with barbs
farming pain from a pointed anointing that has no god-
save the unspoken Word. 
and lemonade stanzas...
pitching woo to a sour butterfly
at ninety miles a snowflake 

on fire.