Rising to Pee

When you rise to pee,

I follow you with my eyes.

Artificial light is soft enough

to see a long way back,

to a plum orchard wet with

late night mist, the rattle of elevated

trains. Kisses tasting of garlic and ginger

by artificial light, graveled paths

leading to my apartment.

Why not pee when you have to,

why not laugh until you cry?

By David Thornbrugh

Bleeding Internally

Conscience is a slow bruise,

almost-ripe avocado damaged by squeezing.

Pounded into square holes daily

by jobs, lovers, traffic, news

beyond digestion.

The heart weaves red baskets

picket fence solid,

makes room for all the eggs

you’ll accumulate.

By David Thornbrugh