iPoem · 5533.770.712.637 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes

12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
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 5533.770.712.637 (no. 792,843) was generated on August 29, 2026 at 2:37 pm
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