iPoem · 7797.298.560.149 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
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 7797.298.560.149 (no. 805,573) was generated on November 4, 2026 at 7:52 pm
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