wilderness of spirit

…gives meaning to the wilderness of spirit I am living in.

– bell hooks, all about love


mantra in an underground

your finger draws the bead of sweat down my forehead
each heat in me radiating inward into your thin point

what, this baptism
what, this turning of the soul

and endless from the corner humming



one I


will have





wander ladder (*warning, this is a weird poem)

Part 1: I returned with a smile. With a long exhale. That restored the rhythm. Eventually, a harmony. Bombardier belonging. To vision. In the company of loved ones. Alone. Awake in it.


Less alcohol. Less sex and more long pauses on each others chests. Hadn’t felt intimacy since August 22nd 2017. This was not a problem – more, a circumstance (well it was a big problem for a bit there, ya).

Drank drank it in. I remember breathing it directly into the skin.


A partner. A lounging search for one. Or, prefer knowing now the slow turning of soul that is solitude. Took time. Taking time. Takes. Lives happily at the bottom of the lake 🙂

Now. Melt with the windows. 

Part 2: My friends lately. Bend down. Their breath bold smoke in the cold. Their champion. Are we going to be ok? Well…yes. Their love and mine in utero.

These Babes. They’re wild-longing. I know these, the most impressive people.

They lend each other rain.

They’re just, lil bubbos.

Part 3: Well, love does take shape. No need to set fire.




at the sudden loving

this is what they spoke of

when they spoke of happiness

when they mentioned maintenance

as the true act of love

every door seems larger, longer

than before


Past few w33ks

like the constant flush of oxygen
that remedies a wound

yes the gratitude
yes the sudden realness
yes the flooding song

of healing

at the edge of the celebration
comes the ritual bend of ribs
as they wait for expanding lungs

and tomorrow

dance again
awake in an abandoned
search for the tongue

claim my family hand
on heaving shoulders

this is not cheap
this absolute pursuit

or the soaring
that is knowing others

waiting at home
and helpful for it

a sister’s child
is alive and warming
the inner arms
of those who hold him

arrives baby Leo,
makes well.

Song for trust




Regular slick flow, and a held hiccup

Feels sweet you know, after a few minutes

After a few minutes, shoulder socket aches

A numb hand, and a swelling lip

Every every night we total, and paper spits out

The report works well, to keep track

To keep track, and settle our accounts.

Your account of me, might mismatch

When I’m down, near your knees

When it’s mugged, the air and heat

You finally feel your skin, and a touch

What’s twitching, your need or your hunger

Your need or your hunger, is it any difference?

With a broiling, and a hug wrapped thick

Slide into pants, slide into blue jeans

Both of us a shiver, out late in the back

and it suddenly-




Recall a sun, gentrified

In its glow, its setting hums

We were both settling, into an eventual humdinger

We were both in love with, and out of

We were both, fluid and skimmed at the top

When the cream lands, it splats

Then dries in the day, then a dog licks it

Then a dog licks it, and others recoil

At the sight, at the singleness of this dog

This dog licking spoiled, and then along it trots

With a smile, relaxed and spilled across a snout.

I left with a smile, I left with a sharp inhale

Eyes twitching from stress, and a machination

That bends every choice, into a marathon

Into a marathon, is how most enter

Is how most enter, telling of their exit

Sometimes it’s just worth it, an enthralling

An enthralling, and digestion

And digestion, comes after a sickness of fullness.



Were you at home, when your original desire

Locked eyes and held you, worked a foreign air

Languid and disruptive, and destined to bend

And destined to bend, you did bend

But with a poker in hand, the whole way tense

The whole way tense, the whole way unrelenting

Even if the goal, never resembling that original

Seemed to hunch like a beacon, a hill unknown

And launching toward, a regular durge.

It rained, it rained for one million years

And your oceans filled, though they filled slowly

And you brought life, in and around wherever

It could fit, it could push through placenta

Warm lines of air, flowing directly into

Flowing directly into, never ceasing

Never ceasing, you brought in air

You brought in air, all around and warm

Will they know warm air, and the deafening

Of one million crickets, singing as the warmth drops.




Terror of the bed tonight, longing for an extra hour

Longing for an extra hour, and lounging in effortless

This will continue, and for months it will pour

It will spill onto passerby, and swish in their mouths

You’ll notice strengthening of muscles, and dirt

And dirt, will begin to collect in the corners

The noises will combine, to a fruitful chime

And bring you some solace, and time

And time, will continue through and back around

You’ll as a circle, rip tear and careen.

For the time being, careening is effortless

To stop the careen, to stop the floating

In the middle of the day, without the clocks wish

You’ll notice your second hand, and stop

And stop, it’s not worth the minimal effort

It’s not worth the minimal effort, but wait

Wait and you’ll receive, the effort of waiting.



What can be owed, to an eventual trust

The rushing blood of time, or the eternal.

Or the eternal, forever perched in mind

Overseeing not fate, but a sense of purpose

While direction is the end, and not a sense of purpose.

However you spend this time, will it not eventually end?


Relearning alot.

Remaining aloft.

This is growth.

This is change.

Not expected.

But desired.

And perfect.



Patience listens up

Hi All,

A fun change this month – a new look! Collaborator/longtime friend/cousin Katie Hands graciously shared her work for this post in addition to tips on site design. Katie is a wonderful writer, and hosts her own blog, here. Please take a look.

This month we focused in on the theme of Patience – one that both of us have been wrestling through lately. It’s a trying time. As we know. The search for patience can sometimes feel like a lost cause. However, time takes its time. Brighter days. The revolution must be joyous.


Days gone by
by Katie Hands

There are many things
I never told you
Because I didn’t take the time

The words spilled out
Inside my head
Drowning out the rest

Those words I spoke
But didn’t speak
Haunt me to this day

There are many things
I should have said
But couldn’t form the words

Days go by
And each year ends
But the thought of you remains

And everything I never said
Will while away the days

For each new morning
And impending dusk
Will be the only remaining change

One day I’ll tell you everything
If given the chance to speak
And so I’ll wait in the days to come
I’ll wait for you patiently

by Alexander Gudding

*note: a “>” indicates a redirection of thought

you’re home
when you want to be

this forest is for your tree
and your tree a forest

with a collapse
and winded, the branch

so too this feeling,
without incident.


a late walk
jeans melting into

house lights enthralled
with their occupants,

the looks of
parents listening

buildings brown’d against
a blu’ing sky.


patience strides

and rules minds
and holds limbs.

where earth-bound,
a body touches

and a thought,
lived in.


a rumour
lengthens out over

a synapse tingles
to remember.

fussy hands
over a head of

the spirit’s knuckles
crack and pop.


heading out
bending through

patience mourns.
in times of unrest

its ink settles
at the edges of the

a heart it seems,
can change color(s).


no cleverness
can expedite

as bones take
their time, their breadth.

what feels like waiting
under each other’s

desperate. desperate.


impatience, stop
listing gains like

let friendship
and unlimited fervor

build in plain sight,
build bridges

the runner stopped,
and fed.


a body new to
its yearnings encounters

lipstick underlining
each new word, learning,

a body can be
as gentle as any

the morning will arrive,
all the same.


air slowly
leaps as we

our hands are Beautifully
arranged on the face.

We tiptoe along each
other’s fault lines,


UMa: Ursa Major

bend your face alittle
over your lease
up above the end of the street
your body out in public
healing in real time
your knee unlocks
eases itself into the lake
a warm body with
a cool top

you chose gentleness
in this new heat
how is strength always
hiding in the bending
how does it arrive w/
the morning
some mornings
and lend uncertainty
a better blanket
to keep the air in
sitting content or
some kind of happy
on the stoop

through the past
few months
myriad ectothermic
friendships that glisten
new against the passing
as the entire pier
shifts from deeper
currents farther out
does it arrive w/ those
same currents
events nearly imperceivable
until suddenly-
the sea

or a body’s back
on the wooden floor
a warm thing
and a hardness
linking Earth to
shoulder blades
no need to hammer
them into submission
or die for the cause
in anticipation of
a sundowne

be the bear they say
an ursa major
how to balance the
inner she-bear
with longer and longer
claws that push from
the floor
of a darkening sky
no matter if, or
when, an easier
rest approaches

either way
it’ll take
some black lipstick
or blouse to entreat
a dance w/ a new version
on the street newly
no, not barren or
choosing an embrace
and pumping
each others blood

take my hands
heap them on
until the dreams
continue through
their best parts
and then the drums
from out the mouth
out to the corner
join me in the flight
a membership
an annual event

yes the revelry
yes the red lanterns
yes the silence on the
edge of the celebration

we can escape there
Any time we need

the voice and lights
fading as we exit

july. thirty. won.

Anddd we’re back. This month featuring the illustrations of Jacob Storer. We explored with some new styles, writing and painting in tandem, one medium influencing the other – and some slapdash random amblings.



One fresh off the press to start:
So many new bodies and edges and
Distort the memories of your skin.
To now, where I would hush to see it.
Fall forward, as if it were a pool;
And never toe the bottom.
An early dust with cold blankets
And a bright, muted sun
a day to suffer a
Joyous rebellion
Your forearms
Still lifting
Still and ligaments
Soldered into some thick-clothes
Busting shock of ice
As a greeting.
Welcome home to the plains;
No cap here
Just thinner
And thinner sky
While a weighted car turns over
in its bed of metal.


IMG_9087There’s that fear again.

Peeking around the corner.

Framed against the purple.

Come to sabotage through silence.

Through the dark.

Light makes the biggest waves.

Seem benign.

In their sighing.

As they slam into shore.





Bud, bud, just – relax


Tell me to relax



We spoke of patience earlier
And what that harboring
Could eventually unleash
As an ocean

Ribs spreading from within
Like fins from long ago
Our heads swell
With the sudden


Hold on we say
Throttling the dash
Amassing inner wealth
Over atrophy

We’ll rim around again


Have to look don’t we
Even when we don’t know
What we’re looking at

Worth the business
Of looking

Or spreading the wings of vision
Over the clouded sun
Our spots grow
As we glisten

Full on the air of place
And decision
We’ll apply a straight line
To accentuate


Thoughts like baleen
Unnerving sense of expansion
In crowded lines
Pointing both up and down




Ralphed all on

Is it an aerial view
We missed all along
Instead of a wall dripping


Pollen suddenly collects on the island and the corners disperse they seem to dwindle if nothing else and leave the rest of the shapes desolate of texture or populace as they spread from one island to the next to the next to populate and impose or direct the water’s flow now that the land has been had the land has been decided for, not with so attempted that it now submits to the growing blend

Too late for the islanders

Bridges have been built
Across acidic lakes
Cross-hatched parcels
Lent to one another

An endless stream of dirt
That will eventually compress into a crown
Atop the holder’s head
Holds them all up


So, the format has shifted a bit, or really just the schedule.
We’ll go monthly from now on.

This Month, featuring the photography of Cole Witter.

Cole is a very skilled and thoughtful photographer, and has been doing some incredible work throughout NYC for the past couple of years. Luckily, he obliged me when asked if some of his photos could be featured on allthisthunder, and then generously provided the images that populate this post.

Please check out more of his work here.



Home Late

home late

find a flower. Butter it.
grease and satin. better now.
steely neck. arm wraparound.
all my friends. are dancers.
when you greet them.

some are made of steak. and horseradish.
the preferred dressing. they let melt in the sun.
all my friends. are nudely.
legs out. every hair immaculate.
when they greet you.

we mix colors. others don’t agree.
and slide together. a random joke.
we clean one another. of the AM.
and babble into. then learn our monsters.
how to greet them.

where to rest together. a community.
blooming in utero. atypical silos.
search for the staple gun. our needs.
they’re healthy. they’re brimming.
that’s how they greet you.



ida buried her grandmother just once

Ida plunges her plow into the ground
And cuts a single note through the cool earth

-but it’s graphic
-some earthworms die

Ida walks from the field burning a stick
And it’s all the field can do, not to sigh

-slick and weathered
-she muscles through

Ida buried her grandmother just once
Among that cloudless patch of grass and sand

-she felt garbled
-and rendered lite

Ida searches at dusk for what she found
Years ago on a similar sojourn

-there are worries
-she’s worried out

Ida returns to her robust memry’
When she was the depth of the ocean too

-when she poured
-her power out

Ida returns to her robust memry’
When her spine ran the length of the cliff long

-when she cracked
-a boulder halved

Ida leans her weight against the alone

-and sunset bends


Processed with VSCO with c9 preset

in front of nature

Gawd these legs-

That walk took fucking forever—————————————————————-

*You fill me up

You know that/

You fill me

Sometimes you only seem lent to us
And i worry you’ll become a statue
For others to walk by in a tall room
And wonder at how-a-wonder
The time with you must have been


               You’re cut
You’re so cut
               I see your stomache
And mine is aching for yours
               I’m full on you after, so

                                                                                                  No stop shouting

Not so much
The mood


Remember you’re from me
Remember my forearm
Remember several different waiting rooms
Remember the events
That lead to us



Push back to me – and that milk – rushes through – brand new – my eyes up at yours

I’m in control



Put some sunscreen on

built from

a body borne.


why devote time,

to the sky.

you’re wondrous,



And what,

a feat.


the field,


wander dawned.

and bodies,

in assembly,



in their




a health,

around them.


in oldness,

its nudity.

it’s new

To me.