1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess

12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum

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 548.380.280.905 (no. 796,644) was generated on October 12, 2026 at 9:33 am
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