iPoem · 2846.7895.632.359 · Cent mille milliards

1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4normal one aims to be and share the throne

5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave

9The genealogist with field and fess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
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 2846.7895.632.359 (no. 793,076) was generated on September 3, 2026 at 6:42 pm
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