Year of Valentines – May 6, 2026
In Year of Valentines, John Reed writes 80+ valentines to “you” (the loved one, the missed one, the lost one), and to New York City itself. Passionate and cool tempered, Reed’s second collection of sonnets sees creative origins in the No Wave movement—the set of his childhood—with its splendor of dissipation, and merciless affections.
Heads and Haha
Our puppet heads are wooden, but heavy,
no good for kissing, but better for trying.
If you would remember my puppet name,
I could be an as-if someone again,
clattering promises you would ask for. If,
if we kissed, would we kiss with open mouths?
I don’t think I have a hinge in my jaw;
I think my mouth is carved in a pucker,
maybe shaping a word that can’t be said,
or tasting the wish by licking the flame.
If your face is carved like mine, with no hinge,
our wooden heads will peck please, please, please.
But if, if we have hinges and chins? Who
would we be to toss our heads and haha?
John Reed’s Year of Valentines is an altverse where lovers dance–too close or too far apart—amid knife fights, gyro wrappers, and downright lies; where the suburb ends and New York begins, where the need-me crimson ribbon of mysterious gifts wends its way from Gansevoort Street to Pete’s Candy Store, from désastre to amor. Here the sonnet serves as ideal container for the strange passions and dispassionate cool of Reed’s wise young fools for love. Part airkiss, part gros bisous, it’s a collection of spells and blessings.
—Tina Cane, author of Year of the Murder Hornet
Published by Spuyten Duyvil Press
- Order at Bookshop, Amazon, and Spuyten Duyvil
See John’s other work:
- Bomb: John Reed by Gee Henry
- Love Skeletons, John Reed in discussion with Elizabeth Trundle | Brooklyn Rail
- Tin House: The Last Sign You’ll Ever Read, Susan Marque in discussion with John Reed