iPoem · 199.6667.471.411 · Cent mille milliards

1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce

12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum

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 199.6667.471.411 (no. 805,536) was generated on November 4, 2026 at 7:52 pm
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