The Art of Snuffing

Indoors alas. Wind is whipping. Snuff in my nose. Enjoy the dripping.

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Santa was a snuffer Have no doubt

My wooden snuffbox Nobody knows what it is… Let’s leave them guessing!

your wooden snuffbox someone has recognized now you must flourish

What makes us human? The concept of: “This is MINE!” (Hoarding side effects…)

“This is mine” haiku Bad thought while dressing for church! Well… what can I say?

Snuff and deadly sins A thought for Sunday morning… Greed and gluttony!

Off my soapbox now… Pinch, sniff and be merry for Tomorrow we sneeze!

greed and gluttony tempt regardless of the gift hold steady the way

Maddening nose itch. Kicking myself, then finding The cloth to soothe me.

I think we’ve all been without our hankey’s a time or two eh?

Do you know the two Saddest words in our language? Rebound congestion.

To try every SNUFF availble in the world, would take a lot of FFUNS. But I am willing to spend all my FFUNS on SNUFF.

Roses are red, Violets are blue, I want some snuff.

ME TOO!

There once was a man from Nantucket Who sold real strong snuff by the bucket He sent some to me Which I snorted with glee Then said God Damn American PACT Law making me jump through hoops to get my favorite snuffs for no reason at all other than ridiculous political pandering and over-regulation, F*** IT!

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I’ve got ya where I want ya, and now I’m gonna sniff ya. Tap the box and float outta yer socks, that snuff is there to greet ya!

The poetry has petered out It really is a shame… It’s time to start this thread again For the snuffbox hall of fame.

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I’ll play the game ,I’ll roll the dice a snuffbox hall of fame sounds rather nice. So here I sit alone and distorted, I try to snuff but only snorted I am congested as you can see hedges don’t work for me I’ve tried everything that alleges a cure and 6 Photo special to procure Now I can breath clear and pure and if even helps not to snore!

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six photo kailash an elephant wanders past life on the mountain

The dust dances in the fragmented rays of light. Sun searing through specks of the window glass, not yet covered by the years. Those dancing particles finding way, atop the mounds of books and forgotten candles. Instruments and tools strewn about, objects of question. A glass jar of Snafu gleaming on the the work bench, with carefully placed spoon resting comfortably atop. A sudden pause, a thought to write this down. Only after a sniff and after every capitol T.

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