october first

I prepare by hollowing out my stomach, sharp silver against sinew. I will become my own costume if I haven't already—, become one with open air and the numbness in the autumn breeze, brisk against my skin. it's like a ritual, by now. take little in and become even less. it's a daily chore. I push aside my plates in favor of the silverware, clack- clack-ing nicely against me. eventually I give. hopefully by the last day I'll be the settling dust.