iPoem · 5138.464.163.551 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave

9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum

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 5138.464.163.551 (no. 806,560) was generated on November 7, 2026 at 1:47 am
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