(Poem 320 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

To become supernatural
one must eat oranges
and play with kaleidoscopes,
listen to the blood pumping
through moving veins
and feel the pulse
in tips of toes.

If the past tries to creep
like a lingering rumor
up the brain stem,
one must unscrew
the scalp and release
the humors
to the heavens and beyond.

When the future
feels like a memory
of a once-forgotten story
told right now,
someone has reached
the pinnacle,
or started over.

Either way,
the electricity that hums
from an unknown source
downloads
unknowable truths
into highways of blood
and bone.

@Home Studio – 320th poem of the year (While reading Becoming Supernatural by Dr. Joe Dispenza.)

Dispenza, Dr. Joe, Becoming Supernatural, Hay House, 2017.

Runner ups for the Supernatural photos to accompany my poem: