iPoem · 5697.8791.189.181 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum

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 5697.8791.189.181 (no. 791,433) was generated on July 29, 2026 at 8:31 pm
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