iPoem · 8020.5300.219.108 · Cent mille milliards

1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4that suede ferments is not at all well known

5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum

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 8020.5300.219.108 (no. 797,566) was generated on October 14, 2026 at 3:46 pm
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