iPoem · 5526.8320.470.879 · 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
4normal one aims to be and share the throne

5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
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 5526.8320.470.879 (no. 797,370) was generated on October 14, 2026 at 4:45 am
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