iPoem · 7041.666.750.261 · 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
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave

9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess

12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
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 7041.666.750.261 (no. 795,542) was generated on October 9, 2026 at 11:54 am
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