iPoem · 181.6707.934.815 · Cent mille milliards

1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum

Based on Raymond Queneau’s A Hundred Thousand Billion Poems, The 100,000,000,000,000 iPoem is a non-commercial artistic project inspired by Queneau’s work and the tradition of literary variation it inaugurated.
→ iPoem 181.6707.934.815 (no. 806,933) was generated on November 8, 2026 at 2:17 am
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