descent | by Amy Kinsman

being falls out of the sky,

(in this case, you)


mistaken in binoculars,

by amateur astronomers,

          for a passing comet.

                                at distance,

                this light is everything

                   that may be seen,

body burning up

on re-entry,

meat sloughing

off the bones.

                     (you were warned;

     immolation is an awful death).

as yet, you are more

than the inevitable crater,

                a carbonic soot-stain of


                    i am

                   i am

                  i am



                           terminal velocity,

                                         enjoy it.


while they were up the mountain,

        hiding from god,

you wrote your name

        on the moon

                                  in rocket fuel.



Amy Kinsman is a genderfluid poet and playwright from Manchester, England. As well as being the founding editor of Riggwelter Press and associate editor of Three Drops From A Cauldron, they are also the host of a regular open mic. Their work has appeared in many places, including Bombus Press, L’Ephemere Review, Pidgeonholes, Rust + Moth and Up The Staircase Quarterly. Their debut pamphlet & was joint winner of the Indigo Dreams Pamphlet Prize and is due out in April 2018. // @shemolrows