iPoem · 1523.6374.398.305 · Cent mille milliards

1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
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 1523.6374.398.305 (no. 797,237) was generated on October 13, 2026 at 9:00 pm
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