“The Last Romantic” – Thomas Loudermilk
Sparse words spoken in between bars
are enough to inspire
Delusions built upon tenuous experiences
that are so by his own hand.
Yet another stone to roll uphill
Against gravitational inevitability.
Inspired by a purpose selfish and deluded
and affirmed by others with the same purpose.
The high horse, perpetually riderless,
its reins held tightly
by him dragged due to his own misguided
conceptualization of purpose.
The last of his kind: a convenient persona
adopted and worn to render less pathetic
The totality of his attempts to be
But between the words there are glances,
rapid and violent enough to
Conjure the Traditional Sanctity and Loveliness
toward which he is dragged
Or imagines himself dragged. But
the possibility of illusion is not enough.
For now, these few moments persist, suspended in
Time and space.
It may be her: her voice, her eyes, and
Their collective imposition on
His mind and heart, both so easily
affected by such minutiae.
The turning of the engine is enough
combustion to annihilate that conjuration,
antimatter to his material passion,
energy enough to throw him again from the saddle.
An amalgamation of his life and love centralized
And stuck in the concrete of the sidewalk
Between the bars and the car. Not lost, just suspended.
And so, out of reach.