iPoem · 813.3765.283.421 · Cent mille milliards

1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone

5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave

9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
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 813.3765.283.421 (no. 808,869) was generated on November 13, 2026 at 11:00 am
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