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Gentleman Jack

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You don’t wear my shadow well on your shoulder
wearing my name like a borrowed shirt
It’s too heavy clinging to the wall, but I am the
silhouette in khaki dissolving to ash, dragging
the chain like a shroud with a bitter host
as if a penitent whispering sins to a priest
a shadow who hasn’t learned to haunt properly
The rain is telling secrets of this spoof
echoing from vases filled with ash.
That smells like me, Gentleman Jack. 

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