iPoem · 5850.6904.696.809 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4that suede ferments is not at all well known

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave

9The genealogist with field and fess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14the best of all things to an end must come

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 5850.6904.696.809 (no. 791,280) was generated on July 27, 2026 at 1:25 am
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