iPoem · 7857.5316.944.202 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess

12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
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 7857.5316.944.202 (no. 804,634) was generated on November 2, 2026 at 10:14 pm
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