iPoem · 5545.6490.142.257 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes

12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
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 5545.6490.142.257 (no. 791,071) was generated on July 22, 2026 at 12:02 am
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