iPoem · 7777.6499.791.881 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave

9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
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 7777.6499.791.881 (no. 797,405) was generated on October 14, 2026 at 6:57 am
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