iPoem · 554.6320.257.322 · Cent mille milliards

1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
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 554.6320.257.322 (no. 798,566) was generated on October 17, 2026 at 8:08 am
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