I’m doing nothing, then something
A sound, something hitting the floor
A meaty slumping, a weighty hefty thud
Clipped, local thunder, directly under
He felt, the stricken site, he sighed
And sought stairs to higher
Up he went like a spiral, them winding
Crisscrossing like bones on a pirate
Ship’s flag, his courage flagging
His nerves stabbing him with flight instinct
Trying and failing to instil wisdom
In the sorry sinner
In thinner air he approached the door
Unaware that in a moment more
He would become the first rate dinner
Of same unnamed, unknowable horror.
Alchemisland 
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