Wavenet for Text Generation (Edited output)

Process details blogged here

11 October 2016 at 17:48 -- 12 October 2016 at 19:41

she was dust to the hill
even despair a pretence

star's sick weeping:
the land, wind,

the ground of the way
staring into a lapped peach

without wonders thus were eyes
sake of cold sometown

through lust,
and uptight winking cold
blood tree hairs 
 in loss

the paid holy crill
 bends in your gut 
that good must

the mouth's fruit
tiny from carrying 
a generative cup

     dusty, a meaning the rains accessed in deep
soul severed
                 fast things
stabled within expectations.

o beast wire sea
        saint almost
     of shorn waters
and sewn smoke

over the emptying earth
    sands bite
petals of a vast sky

and the fires changed

wounded plums
stew rivers
greasy steam

never allow sunlight to kiss space

silk morning implies a stooped evening
drugged sex thrown into the drain

teeth return stars and spit
wings painted with muscle 

a frozen mountain
praying in the sun

sombre small swell of mind
tufted message’s screen

scabby atoms grabbing time
from the car of faith

replacing synchronicity in the bite 
of death as it blots out green

adoring her:
how in my glands
hedon, entombed, catches
small blue feathers

bent arches of loud depth
as ash becomes it end things

dogs coughing up years
in folds of liquid sleep

honey in fountains
birthing brains 

summer teased
dry whims

spacebar blushes
spilled slack vain

the foetus of a bird
pulled out of a bull

awaken negation’s bearded sky bed
heresies sinking into cheese

the child pink
      perceives in others:
smudged meat
     breath hurtling laws
      safe trees
       a stray kill

sex’s ring 
surgeries the house 
at dawn

beating loose the roof
drooling mad over the future

a frail fixed static sign
branching space

doors march to the city
haunted by named steps

wed to flowing savage

a compass of mud
the sea kept away

i descend
into drowned

sullen in the room of endless all
a crumb of friction milks god

twilight improbabilities of moths
wound the river

its brown ribs
stare into the hot
pills of keys

roads waiting for skin
inside raining oil

hungry stems
muttering in dense clouds

and even now
the fist rows
with their nice toxic medicines
move like lizards across forest bridges
denting the simple refined cruelty of knives
stirring solid watches into song

red and thin, the hand again
whips the empty lock

falls dark into the aim
of an old cut

bones and worms rape the beaten world

dunes dressing the air in sinews
translate glaze into dance

then leave the mirror
tongue extended south

& as ovid
     paints stubble on the sun
     paralyses holes
     & aborts magnets

new weapons cling to the gate
sprinkled underfoot in the office sand

through that alone
flocks cheat and spam

listening his spring washes bone.
her wet sea asphalt happens toward life.

suspended. appease.
this accident rinses another
holy in a way
a presence half grafted, deployed.

forming him we bleached
inner dreams

fruiting aborted
in this old absolute

wash lashed up in chaff
from the words that fail to be signs

one spring
trees trap windows

invention tosses sadness
into the throat of cats

maps grind jokes 
into forgetting

lips dilate and follow
color into forgiveness

thinking pathed her times
          corn growing 
    eyes edged with rain
     forest ripped with joy

surging splinters of flung hair

blown. blow. nothing
in the stinking want.

               visions of deep 
open, sense

green falling fire’s slack
stinks of worship

a mould scorched skin
vital sufficient glistening

expressed in rock
in blank washed kneeling love

soft eternities
known and injected
into burned blood

flatten a swarm of wolves

venting bread
blurred cold

noises searching
the dirt for holes

we felt the words
begin laughing

the farm of our root chance was music
an enveloped enticed killing of sadness
a slum chase toward hot stone

an intricate world that had its name stolen
by a swamp of erased sins

flesh motion
replies cut
into soil

a herd that locks
down the hot, hot world

a dysentery of otters
hard loining 

               they then home it
                    grief downward to die   
          whispering tired threats into dainty rocks
     evanescent apparatuses breeding things known as i

now it whirls ladling fragrant debris
     tragic as hate paper ore pain

          smelling of caution
     convert secrets into force

let down snares
      tender barren soiled light 

          where promise

it’s dubland 
     grated soma
          the such of saves

an ointment 
of salted

          burnt      the sun

prey flexed its
money breath

   sometimes a rain of things
     looking at the images in fire
       died off, wanted, the whole

 i write you as
               an oak

a shining battered
veal, omitted play,
regret caste

I hating threw the horizon 
     a lumpen slumped line
          after the piss

and sailing
     along submersible thick

          lost      a job
     of punishment 
       and instruments
             covered in teeth

here wet clothes
     grow spines
      from a carcass of fire

remember the way
     you dropped her legs
                         that night, dying it
  with red

i was quiet, grafted
     as if to life, a tawny

in the plumed engine
     the enteric’s lucid gills
       where irony jugs stand
          in/exhaling time

             sick as an animal
                sorting the good
          life from rant

sunlight comes sudden 
     red, along you

never stable, fixed, you run
     until city becomes a lovely bruise
          inside your flesh

furious prodigy of the sea
     dying snapped in the dappled
          glaze of sleep

     break the sun
        into polite certain wholes

the sun
     with its mane
        of wind-tagged semen

pocks of quiet     
     breast the tight
     there of a world.

strapped abject minutes
     above pre-scanned conveniences

jung gang

somatic lakes
intertextual hearts

the neighbours
dabble in their graves
     to get more

and leaves
     feel like small tough bones
   mountains of limp chaff

     of her tongue, the map
    where need became pure

and what’s in the net understands
i am a forger in a coffin
of multiplexed constantlessness

smells under the skin
     challenged, mulching the overtow

spincter muses

                         and the cage
     is mouth,
and the sub-mages learn
     to swill the always
          of freedom dust

our heart        wanders
                             from one factory
                              over trash callow unloved worn events
                              carrying delicious spiral lambs
                              from the slaughter froth

   a tongue
     on your orange neck

          charred chairs
          blurred choices
     vandalised light

the fragoticalmage
                    lean down summering
                    moves on fury her firm  

                            shunters of constancy
                              tilt in the lobby
                                like bridges

                                   houses foam
                                     in looms of
               death welding mystery

unwall the sound
     maimed horses

grovelling stars and telematic heresies
     find the baby dark-hanged:
          dulled tentative tawn
               glue, tonged, issuers

and i the cold
     nerve-dross hand
 of beaming fakes
the phonetic oooh cool gondering 

 fucked tongues. your landshelves. 
     light fat frugal gates — 
sagging among a thousand
rich raided small 
boiling craters

the snow of mirage-aligned socks.
miridescent. spugs. laubed.  

you’re knots
     seen making
      yellow repression     

           citations aimed at death's
                     doodled seals

          a rival buffet 
cauterised in fanware.

famine walks the locks
fleeing being

most streams
in drops


silt blushed emphatic mannerisms
sob in the dump-strict-pilled-blood

i touch the belt
of a contoured spire 
stuffed in howls and body heat

thunder strikes
the suffering master-fated
derelict self

ashes tick
in spiders

pages are dead
dough singing in the bell

drum mouth we fave, rude
a slow-rash of trust-caused atrocities

the heart

the haze is right
tides amuse the dead

the heat in crowds
exudes a uniform care

at the boundaries of

wishing fled the mildew
drop of old others
swept us the snake hours

the bead


his sack of sunlight
                                            the way that we

                                                 without two,

he sludge-forned unlit selves for severence  
                                             the reveal-
                 the plate,
which glares
                                death from honey,
            the oldsters, the breathers questions they asking,
 and me closest-           an allment-tone
                    in a littering stirrup.