HBAL703: A Poem

Too Long; Didn't Read

There was a terrible noise; informational noise -- racks, slashes... and I was tangled in... in... strings. The floating domain's distance was filled with alienated altitudes; kites sitting on their rebif balloons. A day near Loon's noon would never end without Fête de Nuit's annetna, longitudinal ones seemed—deemed more minimum from a helium point. But who knew the satellites would come back to bite, who'd bare the bark stretch in cranberries.