iPoem · 5580.94.382.316 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4that suede ferments is not at all well known

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb

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 5580.94.382.316 (no. 793,221) was generated on September 5, 2026 at 12:58 am
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