iPoem · 5814.5977.136.301 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
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 5814.5977.136.301 (no. 793,421) was generated on September 8, 2026 at 4:52 pm
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