iPoem · 5555.6460.668.909 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
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
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9The genealogist with field and fess
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess

12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14the best of all things to an end must come

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 5555.6460.668.909 (no. 802,561) was generated on October 28, 2026 at 6:36 am
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