iPoem · 2547.5101.343.417 · Cent mille milliards

1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
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 2547.5101.343.417 (no. 802,838) was generated on October 29, 2026 at 12:38 am
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