iPoem · 7524.7022.252.111 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave

9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum

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 7524.7022.252.111 (no. 803,461) was generated on October 30, 2026 at 4:43 pm
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