Love and Freedom on St. Valentine

I thought long and hard
about pumping hearts and freedom
staring at those three sheets of paper
holding the table grounded
weightly and ponderous they laid
upon the white veneer of that desk
documents etched with invocations of myself

It had to be on this day.
It’s only fitting.

They called my name with strepitous incantations
rituals of loud and unabashed merrymaking
clerks standing down
and up
and down again
on ophidian and phallic plastic chairs
endowed with tiny plastic handles
used to pump moldy air conditioned blood
inside ridiculous purple thrones

she was watching me intently
explaining incomprehensible things
but it was too late:
all that LOVE thinking had made me incredibly horny
and her stuttering about insurance and honoraries
reminded me of gynecology and lus primae noctis

those nights where everyone lost their freedoms
when we used to worship
godly monuments of tightness and moisture
where we danced like madmen
in endless carnivals of tadpoles
very aware of that looming, towering verb
marching upon our liberties

ENDING