iPoem · 7983.7925.919.809 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone

5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
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 7983.7925.919.809 (no. 792,385) was generated on August 18, 2026 at 4:00 pm
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