iPoem · 5556.312.119.312 · 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
4normal one aims to be and share the throne

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave

9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum

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 5556.312.119.312 (no. 808,580) was generated on November 12, 2026 at 3:47 pm
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