iPoem · 5271.363.430.229 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave

9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess

12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
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 5271.363.430.229 (no. 793,834) was generated on September 15, 2026 at 4:55 pm
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