I found this in my notebook. I don’t remember writing it, but it’s in my handwriting, and it sounds like the crap I write, so I assume it’s mine.
The open stairs coil to the upper floor
and to a lamp hung bright with the promise
of something higher still, some further-up
and further-on that might be reached, surely,
if the spiraled stairs could be followed past
their visible end, out along the steps
that will appear, each as they are needed,
one following the next, til they have pierced
the husk of the building and found themselves
become endless flights, urged ever further
by the light of lamps and by the windows
hanging on air, all stretching who knows where,
urging the stairs into infinity.