iPoem · 790.361.463.139 · Cent mille milliards

1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4that suede ferments is not at all well known

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14the best of all things to an end must come

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 790.361.463.139 (no. 793,745) was generated on September 13, 2026 at 7:02 pm
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