iPoem · 7453.970.621.852 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9The genealogist with field and fess
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
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 7453.970.621.852 (no. 804,731) was generated on November 3, 2026 at 3:50 am
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