The Room's Iconography

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223/ after the ninth hour, the room’s iconography begins murmuring, the mattress creaks with the weight of their angelic voices—•

Afterwards. Reviewing the experience of closing out a poem. For me, this is the most difficult part of the writing cycle. I want to feel the influences of classical music, with the dramatic certain finality. When writing, I look for that sense of flourish, that staccato pulse of instruments permitting a clear close of text. It remains difficult explaining the intonation, the rhythmic certainty itself. Part instinct, part strategy, part winding down. Even now, with a minor journal-entry, I am seeking a slow exit from the stage allowing the curtains to fold back in place,

—but the certainty is lacking. Perhaps this moment is a forecast for the inevitable end that is to come in the future. A rambling hesitation without purpose. I'll end up one of the ghostly figures wandering the hallways, uncertain about what was meant to be accomplished in life. Mumbling under my breath with cold drafts from the windows about purpose and obscure poetry.