iPoem · 7241.6991.551.379 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
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 7241.6991.551.379 (no. 798,424) was generated on October 16, 2026 at 10:09 pm
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