From a series of poems that I’ve cowritten with Google’s OpenAI GPT-2 language model that’s designed to predict the next word in a given sequence. My words are bolded.
Night Dram
He poured himself a dram
It was now beyond his land
He saw a twig in the bush
And listened to the wind blow,
From the rustling corn the sparrows fluttered.
"God bless you sir, thank you."
He burst into a passion of laughter
His stomach grew warm
He ate his bread up and drank his wine.
No wonder you should hate
The shapely old man
Who made a cup of toasted sandwich
For his supper.
You might find little missus.
A white pussy cat
A little thing with a horrible hoarse voice
Who kept on swearing to herself
She looked through him as though
She'd seen it all before .