THE OSHO CARD

I take it in my hand
the three women sky-flying
with nothing but a hairsbredth of insane joy
holding them up.
And I am a tiny blob of enormity
my hands full of light
that ricochets’ in every direction, like birthing stars
and I hear only pips and squeaks
of spacetime singing around me
wrapping me in its wondrous womb
its weft of ancient tapestry
breathing luminous in every interstice and cell
its web a shroud, a crown of thorns, a papyrus sheaf.
So I thresh my limbs and wrestle against those boundaries
fighting the gods with my bare teeth and hands
decrying that dream: I am pliant, compliant.
No, I am a rogue, a fraud, a posturing clown
presuming to make logic and sense
out of the zero zone;
when its quantum field is maverick, mindless
its bubbles and ripples
fractiled into the infinite wild.

Can I catch it with my little measuring tape?