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.
Yaacov David Shulman