iPoem · 7029.6756.534.860 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum

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 7029.6756.534.860 (no. 803,943) was generated on November 1, 2026 at 12:58 am
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