iPoem · 8732.353.398.249 · Cent mille milliards

1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess

12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
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 8732.353.398.249 (no. 797,552) was generated on October 14, 2026 at 3:01 pm
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