iPoem · 5226.8300.453.759 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4normal one aims to be and share the throne

5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
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 5226.8300.453.759 (no. 789,047) was generated on June 8, 2026 at 12:40 pm
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