Striva the Fierce was the old forger- the apocryphal progenitor of our village. They say that the day she disappeared she was 104 years old and fiery as the day she had arrived in this village. She was 28, barely a child, when she showed up at the decrepit blacksmith’s forge. She stalked in, from goodness knows where, and set herself in front of that broken down stone furnace, clapped her already ...

I wish’d

For wings

But forgot

To consider

The breadth

Of species

That I might

Transfigure...

Authors note: I started this piece with no idea where it is going. I was trying an exercise in imitating the writer Eve Babitz whose barbed humor I love reading. Unfortunately I’ve ended up with no idea where I’m going other than a vague idea that Dan is an AI or some grand commentary that all financial institutions are centered around the wealthy which is frankly not so secret a truth.

Any help ...

- Open scene: Autumn is draping green trees in red and orange and yellow. Summer hovers nearby, encouraging green trees to grow bigger. Winter enters -

Winter: “I’m going to start frosting the grass tonight, Autumn”

- Autumn stops working -

Autumn: “Wait! That’s not fair! Summer took basically my whole turn.”

Summer (defensively): “I did not! And it’s not my fault if the plants like me so much...

She arrived at my window, a young woman white as a field of snow and aglow in the moonlight. She gently but silently beckoned to me to come outside, her mouth a playful smile and the reflection of the stars in her eyes.

I had had this dream before. She would extend this invitation, I would open my window and I’d climb out carefully into my flowerbeds, then (in the way dream logic does) I would fi...