iPoem · 5080.2399.954.166 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4that suede ferments is not at all well known

5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb

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 5080.2399.954.166 (no. 796,842) was generated on October 12, 2026 at 9:40 pm
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