iPoem · 5100.5394.941.632 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4that suede ferments is not at all well known

5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce

12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
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 5100.5394.941.632 (no. 808,243) was generated on November 11, 2026 at 5:47 pm
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