iPoem · 2093.8360.774.352 · Cent mille milliards

1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone

5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum

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 2093.8360.774.352 (no. 798,423) was generated on October 16, 2026 at 10:06 pm
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