1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4that suede ferments is not at all well known

5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave

9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11watching manure and compost coalesce

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum

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 7140.5329.475.355 (no. 800,155) was generated on October 21, 2026 at 4:05 pm
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