iPoem · 734.6310.989.618 · Cent mille milliards

1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
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 734.6310.989.618 (no. 798,447) was generated on October 16, 2026 at 11:53 pm
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