In my dreamworld this week:
Through time and experience I'm wrought, honed, eroded into a fine strong column. In effect, like Emily Dickinson's -

"On a Columnar Self
How Ample to Rely"

(Poem #740)

But in image, in mind's eye, calling up J.R.R. Tolkien's North Pole - like a candy cane after you've bit off the hook and sucked the red stripe until it's honed to a dagger point. This is my column, the tip truly dangerous.

Also the human spine - multicurved, sprung, precise, delicate, potent, suggestive.