iPoem · 8027.8783.530.362 · 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
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum

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 8027.8783.530.362 (no. 797,584) was generated on October 14, 2026 at 4:48 pm
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