iPoem · 5122.8702.412.341 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave

9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
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 5122.8702.412.341 (no. 793,117) was generated on September 4, 2026 at 2:47 pm
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