Tickling Jörmangandr’s Tail

I feel his footprints here, his soles

still stuck to the floor as though

he stepped with mammoth weight.

In his grasp a mundane tool turned

To uncanniness by his sweaty palms.

He fished beyond his perception,

Beyond his comprehension, the blue

Of the ark. The screwdriver slipped

And tickled the dragon to strike.

Blue. A tenth of a second stretched

Out to 9, the venom ran him through

Blue. Calmly he does his duty, 

But his fingertips ink into blueness

The first steps were to observe, study

The feeling, the pain hounded him

Blisteringly. The blue flash scorched

His internals and then again he stepped.

On the 4th step he called for his mother.

All his constitution left him as his tool,

That with which he scraped eternity, fell.

His hand bloats and cracks, bluened pus 

Filled him to burst, tinted him, and drooled out

His body atrophied. His mind was drippy now. 

On the 6th step he collapsed and scraped 

Raw fingertips across concrete leaving 

Vomit behind. His last step is his own. 

With mammoth weight he left this world

After nine stumbled steps, here he leaves

His screwdriver, electrified with possibility.