1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
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 7892.67.323.861 (no. 809,291) was generated on November 14, 2026 at 2:51 pm
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