iPoem · 5625.2364.338.305 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone

5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum

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 5625.2364.338.305 (no. 808,733) was generated on November 13, 2026 at 2:02 am
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