iPoem · 7123.7697.548.352 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone

5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum

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 7123.7697.548.352 (no. 806,262) was generated on November 6, 2026 at 9:22 am
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