iPoem · 7560.6393.97.859 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4that suede ferments is not at all well known

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave

9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14the best of all things to an end must come

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 7560.6393.97.859 (no. 809,300) was generated on November 14, 2026 at 3:37 pm
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