Before getting into this story, I think it’s necessary for a bit of background. We know from Diarmaid McCullough’s History Of Christianity that only 20% of the source documents of the New Testament are available to us. We’ve made recent discoveries; such as the apocryphal Gospel According to Judas but…

-IV giddy Eros drives, tits like driven snow, big-bouncy sipping lilo drift and imperfect probably copy milk dreams fainting sweep, lo, I weep in my shaking shift [copied.] moved by milkmaids i’ve come to warm my hands on the floating fires of life like a principle of fornication driven eerily into…

a shallow for the shallow heart’s [fornicating] desire to immerse itself in beauty [like life] or flavours thereof — to transform, to see an inadequacy in one’s own hollow heart and to have that aperture filled. an annulus for my love. it’s always the same. some ring. some vows. some bond…

By Sam Cottle. render to me here void and listless air, a still smart coming, sure as Earth’s turning; invisible as air, dire as the hanging coughs come swooping in, no noon warning, no vacuum warning coming now in the heat of the midday din, to dissuade you from the outdoors and prevent you from…

By Sam Cottle (obviously). [and i imagine myself again, and again, and again, like in some smothering dream awakened soon][i’m there in my chains][and all seems to be going swimmingly][i don’t know when i observed this][nor am i cognizant of my need to be a farm boy][dor do i know my…

the nautilus spawn there, out in the dregs of the purple bay as the tides heave in and waste in the algae risen peremptorily, sloshing an endless stain of silt upon the sand and i lay screaming for you, or silent in my heart screaming like the moon screams nightly or sways gentle…

i’ll die by myself, like some quiet, languid cloud floating over the Netflix generation; there is the sea of turmoil, and the parched space filled now with unending worries, and the worries are always the same; they call us to the place where there is no rain, no life- song for the vibrant Earth, and no…

and i spent all my green and young years waiting, like under a green sea, waiting, and in some stricken grief; some deep, deep fear of the world; i was taken hold by the hatreds, the weird looks exchanged between others when i was in the room; some freak is what i was…

not these the hands, nor these helpful ringings, like mouths opening to me; no sigh on this side of the bed; not out eerily half-dressed — cold feet on snow streets; cold, and biting hard hands; gone to feet like to feet not stretched. burning branches come to make my shroud. burn. not living life, because…