1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11watching manure and compost coalesce

12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
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 7091.896.525.289 (no. 793,800) was generated on September 14, 2026 at 4:41 pm
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