четвер, 8 серпня 2019 р.

B.J. Best - Three Neural Network Poems

Author's note: These poems are a collaboration with torch-rnn, a neural network library that writes words one character at a time.  The neural network was trained on my own body of work from the past twenty years.  The resulting poems, therefore, are my own writing rewritten by a computer, then edited by me.



recent music

the twinge of the day,

gorgeous and walk of wind,
and i said the day is this,
but i didn't expect
back when i was rain
with the radiation of her wings.

no, it was all this
heart mourning
from the red quarters,
a snow that won't stay.
she said, perfect
old breasts,
i am a new plant
of constellations.

you can hear a crack close
down the ready pink
of this night,
the scars of the water
from the wind
to be bellied.
such fish spinning
and crows so carved
by the lake.

the gentle would want
to walk on a sea,
trails like miles
of swan.  we will go
to the sign
of the western wings,
flowers on the side
of a heart table,
to radiations of song.
captain goodbye

in the undulating scraps of attention,
blooming and freeze, you were always
the blanket of crocus.

or i was guess when you want
to be sleep, looking
for a kiss and flash like a sunset.

it's easy to live in the clouds,
king of this weather, the wind
collecting pages of tin.

you try to say worry, stunned
by my bangs of fine waves.
we're drunk through disconnect.

you said you drank the trees,
a longing gray made in their leaves.
but i paint the shadowy stories:

i'm sworded, mourning the supposed sense
of some girl, something about
when i was a bird, large and pierced wings—

the house and sick glass, the kiss
you won't tell, flood like an ocean:
the broken, backwear things.
doctor pieces

the cigarettes is growing their mouths.
the river’s snow plane
streaked the chest, found
the dumb line of the song to smoke.
the roar of my father in the grindforms
slipped as the world of the pines.

sudden prayer to be a small silence.
wednesday, wisconsin,
is parasitic with its broken wings.

out of the concrete of a feather
there is bent to be sailing.
the old, cool roads of the sudden party
flood the shadows of reconsider,
while the woods paint the sunset
by their words, the stars
spiraling straight between my hands.

i promised the shake of days,
a constellation in the kiss
of a calendar.  she got a slash
of cancer like a cigarette,
a gray face of doctor mind,
and the wind blue for a shirt.

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