syringe raze they gave me one when i had my wisdom_teeth out. not to help me shoot up. to chase away infection. brush your teeth as well as you can, they said. leave alone what's swollen and scarred. spritz a bit of what comes out of the tap around the wounds to keep them clean. i didn't feel high when whatever they stuck in my arm kissed my brain through a threadbare vein. i just got loopy. the pretty receptionist came into the room and told the surgeon something i couldn't hear. i laughed and said, "i know you!" then i was waking up in a bed that was more like a chair, and i didn't know how i got there. clean splice. funny how you don't remember any of the drifting. funny. in the car, mark knopfler was asking me where i thought i was going. in a day or two i had an answer for him. jell-o and soup and unsimulated sex scenes. the pills they gave me for the pain turned my dick into foam rubber. not that it mattered. no one was touching that thing anyway. nobody but me. years later i used the same plastic syringe to fill a sound hole humidifier for an acoustic guitar. i did that until they changed the design on me. the way they make them now, they let you pop the top off so you can get right at the sponge that sits inside. see the way the edges turn black? that ain't dirt. it's a synthetic skeleton sucking out your sins. showing off its bruises. now that soft spike is my spot treatment for pockets of squirrel piss. a squirt or two of distilled water clears that right up. melts down all the mellow gold. easy as you like. 220920 what's it to you? who go blather from