iPoem · 5560.6357.972.830 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4that suede ferments is not at all well known

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum

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 5560.6357.972.830 (no. 802,208) was generated on October 27, 2026 at 4:51 am
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