iPoem · 5941.3197.358.666 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone

5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess

12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb

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 5941.3197.358.666 (no. 796,808) was generated on October 12, 2026 at 7:34 pm
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