iPoem · 74.6393.924.198 · Cent mille milliards

1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
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 74.6393.924.198 (no. 800,749) was generated on October 23, 2026 at 5:36 am
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