iPoem · 8110.6980.563.119 · Cent mille milliards

1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3the Turks said just take anything you please
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
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
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 8110.6980.563.119 (no. 794,575) was generated on September 27, 2026 at 7:12 am
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