Note From My Interdimensional Self

by Sara Dallmayr

​

There’s a venue in the eighth variable of third cycle 

Chicago, twenty-two degrees from the secondary

parallel block of Wacker Drive, that you might enjoy.

It’s called Round Trip. You might run into George

Harrison. He plays “Circles” on the mellotron. He thinks

this is funny. Try to be casual, he’ll expect you.

You’re really busy when you sleep. Drink more water.

The last time you went to Peru, you were asleep.

Limes caught on fire and everyone cheered.

The cat’s been playing with John Lennon again.

You’ll be seeing an archangel soon. See if you can 

get a kiss out of him or at least a hug. 

Don’t be alarmed if you wake and your legs 

are vibrating. If you fall an inch or so

you’ll just land on the comforter.

Dance with Cole Porter the next time

you’re in Peru. Those lemons are actually limes.

When you’re in the vicinity of angels,

drink light beer. They’ll appreciate the humor.

I understand: the woes of the world are trenches 

of stagnant water and sad-eyed carp.

I get it. We are working on a solution.

When you can, be the set of hands that reaches 

and transfers the writhing carp from the fetid creek

into fresh water. They’ll fight you. They’ll think you’re trying 

to kill them. Part of the answer to all is Funkadelic. 

Watch “Cosmic Slop” if you need more proof.

If you notice something spinning in your periphery,

it’s because I’ve put a tuning fork in our orbit.

No word yet on the spoon.

Larkspur Orchid Azalea: Love One Another.

Love All Your Selves.

Breathe such flowers

into the world.