iPoem · 5572.1395.405.831 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave

9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11watching manure and compost coalesce

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
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 5572.1395.405.831 (no. 799,667) was generated on October 20, 2026 at 7:44 am
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