--- 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 Cupid’s 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.