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   v a l e n t i n e    d a y

--- W I L L I A M   M .  G O T T L I E B

	vale to van 	from a card

This vale of valves on a tear: the urgent, turgid urethra, arch theatre of meaty treaties and whacked attacks, slumped or pumping leader of a pack slung in its lucky ducts and stacked to blow; the mysterious os, cloistered in passages sassy and seraphic as Cupidís big id diddling the red ideas of a quivering world; this valence of lance and vincible armor, of Amor and the valediction spoken at token moments by the spasms of valvular love, the valiant, hollow muscle that gasps, at last, at last, last, last: words in the cards, words for the birds pairing on the 14th of February (or so declared the ardent troubadours), birds in the hills and birds in the valleys, birds abiding and alive, hearts little as candy hearts on Valentine Day.

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