iPoem · 5008.420.682.275 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9The genealogist with field and fess
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes

12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum

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 5008.420.682.275 (no. 789,589) was generated on June 17, 2026 at 6:38 pm
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