iPoem · 2034.6013.419.198 · Cent mille milliards

1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave

9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
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 2034.6013.419.198 (no. 792,728) was generated on August 27, 2026 at 5:51 am
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