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Sockets sunken, belt loops broken.

Face unshaven, deep breaths oaken.

His holed shoes shuffle now and then.

How strange to wear a toothless grin.

He warns us of the end of men

 And begs us to repent our sin.

Trundler towering, travelers glowering.

Batty shouts send children cowering.

Train, next train, a life constrained

By fortune doled in senseless sport,

Though he doesn’t seem so deeply pained

To play the jester in our shallow court.

Feed the meter, jangling peters

Out he goes, off he teeters.

--Jonah Wilkof