iPoem · 2044.3469.330.214 · Cent mille milliards

1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess

12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?

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 2044.3469.330.214 (no. 808,904) was generated on November 13, 2026 at 1:37 pm
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