iPoem · 4032.5990.735.112 · Cent mille milliards

1From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11watching manure and compost coalesce

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
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 4032.5990.735.112 (no. 792,414) was generated on August 19, 2026 at 4:01 pm
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