iPoem · 4431.3493.943.369 · Cent mille milliards

1From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone

5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14the best of all things to an end must come

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 4431.3493.943.369 (no. 805,401) was generated on November 4, 2026 at 7:52 pm
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