iPoem · 7579.6163.545.485 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11watching manure and compost coalesce

12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
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 7579.6163.545.485 (no. 792,542) was generated on August 22, 2026 at 7:53 am
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