iPoem · 5677.6392.960.103 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum

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 5677.6392.960.103 (no. 801,924) was generated on October 26, 2026 at 9:55 am
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