iPoem · 5149.1762.939.95 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown

5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum

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 5149.1762.939.95 (no. 808,644) was generated on November 12, 2026 at 8:40 pm
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