iPoem · 7823.6397.771.561 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone

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
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce

12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
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 7823.6397.771.561 (no. 789,506) was generated on June 15, 2026 at 11:57 am
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