iPoem · 7557.96.409.810 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave

9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum

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 7557.96.409.810 (no. 789,609) was generated on June 18, 2026 at 9:25 am
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