iPoem · 7593.5362.378.71 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone

5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess

12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
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 7593.5362.378.71 (no. 806,685) was generated on November 7, 2026 at 10:01 am
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