iPoem · 7533.8827.628.101 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone

5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9The genealogist with field and fess
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum

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 7533.8827.628.101 (no. 800,723) was generated on October 23, 2026 at 3:38 am
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