Lost Scent


I want to speak jazz with you. 

Django and Art 
Billie and Miles 

The sound of France 

Two hours into 
The first of November 

When the cobble stones 
Keep the light 
And police wagons 
Are the second hand. 

Past the vinyl? 

A clock face for the tower. 

It’s almost noon. 

That sound of bass 
That sound 

We need to clean 

Of high socks parting 
Of high socks on wood.  

Let’s speak like two Greeks. 

We need to clean 
Come back to bed. 

Do we have any food? 
Come back to bed. 

Sock hems 
Inches from the shirt 

Fingers on leather 

Fingers coming undone.
If I gave you a globe 
Your fingers would trail gypsy cloth. 

Is anyone still alive? 
Only us. 

It’s the other way. 

Then you take Graciela 
I’ll be Bill. 

We have a Sophie Alour. 

Light Alour. 
And hand me your pack of Benson & Hedges.

About The Author

Evan Burkin (he/him/his) has been published in the Los Angeles Review of Books, Analogies & Allegories Literary Magazine, Feral: A Journal of Poetry and Art, The Madrigal, Sur, Inklette, and Rain Taxi. They can be found on Twitter @inkhallowed.