From a series of poems that I’ve cowritten with Google’s OpenAI GPT-2 language model. My words are bolded.
The marble felt like a pollack
except it was smooth to the touch
and I'd just spilt coffee over it
on the high plateau
and you had to use a spoon
to eat it
and the plate of desserts was filled with
incredible mouth-feel pillows of sponge
that probably could never
be correctly used to its full capacity
to pick up a dollop of jam
or a handful of lemonade
(it tasted like a light rain)
because it was so sticky,
I couldn't reach the bottom of the spoon
to squish it down like a queen's tiara
when I tried
(I really tried)
but I don’t understand tastelessness.