iPoem · 5944.3389.633.495 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave

9The genealogist with field and fess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
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 5944.3389.633.495 (no. 794,488) was generated on September 25, 2026 at 4:44 pm
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