iPoem · 5538.2893.345.401 · 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
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone

5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11watching manure and compost coalesce

12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum

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 5538.2893.345.401 (no. 796,416) was generated on October 11, 2026 at 6:34 pm
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