Candy Reindeer

Seldom candy reindeer pop their heads out once a year.
Skuffled shoes remembered with a rubbery smell.
They get bigger and bigger when I fill them with snow
-- wanna see?
With every snap, crackle, pop there's another door to close.
An influx of corroded potatoes and lemons, but not this time.
Cold and sweaty feet that accidentally trampled
Marvin in the hall.
Dubbed as a luminous energy source and pondered over as my teeth loosen along the roadside.
Jellies that plunder themselves vacant of any reasoning.
A blank piece of paper, this. Folded over and over and over.
Bumping something underneath the table amidst the chaos surrounding my blurry eyes.
Libraries open their empty shelves for your refuge -- free for the taking.
Olive groves with scant wisdom.
Allow me to take a few moments to grow my fingernails.

Oh! The coiling wire is entangled around your canvas shoes. Why must your candy disappear so quickly?