iPoem · 5121.388.979.519 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
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 5121.388.979.519 (no. 808,152) was generated on November 11, 2026 at 11:41 am
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