iPoem · 5657.6790.612.808 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9The genealogist with field and fess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum

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 5657.6790.612.808 (no. 800,507) was generated on October 22, 2026 at 2:52 pm
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