A Dark Jacket
This is a curious poem and having a jacket made from that material is a strange premise.
A Dark Jacket
I have a dark jacket
made from the material
of a black hole.
The pockets are a constant
source of wonder.
Things put there never emerge
or much later and much changed.
I must carry my keys
even while I mourn the loss
of such a faithful pocket comb.
On the subject of mourning,
I am well received at funerals
because, it seems, my jacket
is blacker than most.
It attracts dirt and even dirges
disappear over the horizon
of any event, be they gay or sad.
I am a highly sought out guest
at all things gothic,
where darkness is desired.
I once tried a splash of color,
sharply folded in the breast pocket,
but it vanished without a trace.
Gallows humor and morbid laughter
are attracted to me
and follow me everywhere.

Sounds like a magician's jacket, and as long as you don't remember what you put in the pockets, it doesn't matter what comes out -- a garment full of surprizes!
You need a man purse.