For Lack of Spine

As a particularly thin and wispy piece of foil for Thou, I could, indeed, rasp lyrical about lacking discipline, overseeing unencounters which I, as him, presumably lean longingly for, or coal-hearted feelings, all things which inescapably drip from his fingers at the first op., but instead I shall take the podium myself for an uncharacteristic outpouring of deep sincerity.

It has come to my attention that my daily veil is infuriatingly opaque, even impenetrable, and though this revelation, if it can be called thus (one always knows, usually), was revealed under a fog of deep intoxication, where such things usually spawn, I know, from tip to toe, its worth is nonethelesser. It's true, in fact. I belong to the world of womb-wisdom.

Reasons I'll save for the appropriate In Person, but I may as well throw up a few Ern Malleyisms while I'm here, dutifully wasting your time: the guard is fiercely loyal, gladly fat and goose-like; the conscious still hold firm, as warily anticipating censors. As for the man in me, well, he needs a woman like you, obviously. La-la-la-la-la-la-la.