iPoem · 7841.7325.651.259 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone

5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave

9The genealogist with field and fess
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce

12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
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 7841.7325.651.259 (no. 805,759) was generated on November 5, 2026 at 2:40 am
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