iPoem · 17.2160.911.154 · Cent mille milliards

1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?

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 17.2160.911.154 (no. 801,679) was generated on October 25, 2026 at 6:32 pm
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