iPoem · 7226.6300.969.686 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4normal one aims to be and share the throne

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb

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 7226.6300.969.686 (no. 789,148) was generated on June 9, 2026 at 9:32 am
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