iPoem · 7503.6168.594.895 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
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 7503.6168.594.895 (no. 791,843) was generated on August 7, 2026 at 6:24 am
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