iPoem · 804.6661.192.669 · Cent mille milliards

1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes

12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
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 804.6661.192.669 (no. 795,895) was generated on October 10, 2026 at 8:54 am
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