iPoem · 5520.5776.369.761 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4that suede ferments is not at all well known

5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
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 5520.5776.369.761 (no. 795,871) was generated on October 10, 2026 at 7:41 am
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