iPoem · 859.7966.933.652 · Cent mille milliards

1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown

5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
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 859.7966.933.652 (no. 789,411) was generated on June 13, 2026 at 12:48 pm
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