iPoem · 5060.8967.859.851 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4that suede ferments is not at all well known

5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum

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 5060.8967.859.851 (no. 803,221) was generated on October 30, 2026 at 1:20 am
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