iPoem · 5037.8791.15.297 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11watching manure and compost coalesce

12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14soliloquies predict great things old chum

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 5037.8791.15.297 (no. 791,743) was generated on August 5, 2026 at 7:02 am
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