iPoem · 5057.701.441.475 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce

12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
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 5057.701.441.475 (no. 794,503) was generated on September 25, 2026 at 10:42 pm
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