"What's the world for you if you can't make it up the way you want."

-Jazz, Toni Morrison

Mott Street and Feed me my lines

Mott Street and Feed me my lines

Mott Street

New York is cleaner than
I remember you across
from me Café Gitane
was smaller then you adored
the waitresses their green
smocks and endless youth
never got us anywhere
I go is love at first.

Café Gitane is brighter since
you returned home where I
laid my head, angling into
you neither of us knew
how to make us work the
way New York is never
worn lightly, how no place
ever fits like a glove it
wasn’t love we fell into
but loneliness.



Feed me my lines

Thinking about how his line breaks aren’t line breaks but sentences run together and clustered and all bunkered up and I’m jealous. 

I play at scanty, strive for precision &/or concision. Economy. Economy of language. (sez a lazy critic)

I don’t think I say everything but he says I do and why write if you’re not going to? (Or something along those lines.) 

He says sometimes I overwrite but I think his lines are enough. My lines aren’t inadequate but I don’t think so. 

A line is trying to work itself out: The dip of his hip. (Something about). Maybe something about chipping a tooth on the dip of his hip. Chipped teeth bone hip the dip between. 

A line with or without a break. A clusterfuck paragraph. Run on and on and ons. The writer knows it’s never finished. Our dumb way of not dying.

Katie Kurtz received an M.A. in Visual and Critical & Studies from California College of the Arts in San Francisco and a B.A. from Fairhaven College of Interdisciplinary Studies at Western Washington University in Bellingham. She lives in Seattle. Instagram: @_katiekurtz_

Cover photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

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