iPoem · 5547.6671.261.728 · 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
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce

12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum

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 5547.6671.261.728 (no. 802,752) was generated on October 28, 2026 at 6:48 pm
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