There are some people
For whom every number is seven. And yet in the sacred incense They add one ingredient so that there are eleven. So that they can enter into this world As in a pair of overalls And then they go upstairs, Dragging shoppers from the malls. And sometimes they err And they think they’re not as strong As they really are. But they Turn about and come along, And the world is as marvelous As a desert suffused in LSD, Because it has danced in the wake Of their synchronicity.
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Yaacov David Shulman
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