iPoem · 8050.7165.313.858 · Cent mille milliards

1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4that suede ferments is not at all well known

5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
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 8050.7165.313.858 (no. 798,904) was generated on October 18, 2026 at 5:53 am
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