iPoem · 7427.472.286.465 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave

9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress

12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
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 7427.472.286.465 (no. 789,796) was generated on June 22, 2026 at 1:12 pm
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