justwrite 22 december

my fingers are too cold of being tired and the fired up eggs fry no legs to the south chasing pants and scant reasons for the season wishing for the light and breaking up green like lily pads scattered in someone's closed eyes a bathtub to run a dub drain down the painful swallows hollowing out the tree trunks to debunk scattered claims like clams in your hands and i am sorry i have no shellfish for you i'm too selfish for you and i want to make some jam from clouds and tuck it into your pockets but everyone shakes everyone's else's head instead of agreeing like they ought to but i bought through until tuesday so we might as well shake hands and make the best of this toast for most people want another chance but i just want one at a time