iPoem · 7040.6140.349.391 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4that suede ferments is not at all well known

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7the learning linguist cameramaniac sings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
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 7040.6140.349.391 (no. 797,548) was generated on October 14, 2026 at 2:48 pm
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