iPoem · 5877.6065.289.805 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave

9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
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 5877.6065.289.805 (no. 803,452) was generated on October 30, 2026 at 3:58 pm
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