iPoem · 643.8391.325.387 · Cent mille milliards

1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone

5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11watching manure and compost coalesce

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum

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 643.8391.325.387 (no. 803,616) was generated on October 31, 2026 at 2:36 am
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