iPoem · 5398.6374.513.367 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum

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 5398.6374.513.367 (no. 794,782) was generated on October 1, 2026 at 8:09 pm
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