XLVII.

In a different gravitational time dilation,
Tierra madre and Desert Storm breathe
aboard the whale-slaver g-force space craft;
muttering the same word in repetition,

connecting their inner constants to the X,
logging onto each other’s Pound-Rebka’s
friendly tension. The while-supremacy
vessel accelerates close to a massive

XLVIII.

planet, spinning in straight vertical line,
time runs more slowly, and they have
a breather, while medicating with Love.
This is a new product, oozed from the X.

Stars, dizzy with combusting, whisper
a thousand million trillion ditties, each
with its own Anglo-French frequency,
and the multi-verse messages Voicemail.

XLIX.

The petit lizard re-transmits word for
word, and Ariadne stifles a yawn. So
much is happening in same curvature
of spacetime, and the energy and

momentum of creation’s passions are
thus distilled as waves of matter and
radiations of ψυχή. Directly from the X.
Active galactive volcanoes and nuclei

L.

emit intense, passionate radiations,
and kind of astronomical amounts of
tenderness can escape the uber-
consciousness of all beings, the

collective Love-conscious. Ariadne
looks out into the small radiant of
the telescope and predicts the ex
istence of dinner, a classical pesto.