AI Poem of the day #19
Would that she, the Beautiful One
and later “The Mother of Beauties,”
might get around to writing
a book. When it came out she
was probably the happiest woman on earth,
promising whoever showed up to the door
at what was probably the country’s poorest boarding school
an endless supply
of magnificent, maple-striped suits
that she made herself, with my father’s help.
She was like an asteroid, a thing of blackness
that was earth’s difference, its loneliest border,
a fever dream of milk and sugar that turned
the moon itself to maple syrup.
She looked like the lady from hell.
She had mottoes on the sides of buses
that she drove through Harlem to nowhere.
She was sure of herself and her way.
She sprinkled gospel truths and vanilla
doodle doos in the cab of the car
that took us, blind and in love, to nowhere.
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We create poems combining AI models. The poems were generated by a GPT2 model fine-tuned for poetry.
We choose to do no editing at all to the generated poetry. We think there is some fun in reading raw poetry coming from a machine, even with the obvious flaws.
