iPoem · 7052.8187.797.659 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness

12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
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 7052.8187.797.659 (no. 793,711) was generated on September 13, 2026 at 4:58 am
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