iPoem · 5198.2950.439.179 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone

5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14the best of all things to an end must come

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 5198.2950.439.179 (no. 799,444) was generated on October 19, 2026 at 4:55 pm
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