His eyes were closed, his mouth opened. His breathing, irregular for three, then four, then five breaths, returned to its normal, soundless rhythm. Stubbled overlip and wet underlip moved about some final, silent word: […]

I'm low key salty about the way that nigga did you but it seems like he still cares about you.

Yet realism and poetry are interfusable, if the poet has a poetic purpose and the spiritual light without which the mot juste will not come on moth-wings to him; […]

Taq polymerase lacks a proofreading activity and as a result is unable to correct its errors.