1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes

12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
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 5142.767.352.915 (no. 799,962) was generated on October 21, 2026 at 2:59 am
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