iPoem · 5087.317.755.87 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11watching manure and compost coalesce

12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
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 5087.317.755.87 (no. 789,712) was generated on June 20, 2026 at 12:58 pm
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