What do we venture for?
When we keep painting heads.
Face after face, it seems endless.
Painting to no avail.
I guess human flesh, is, an endless scape to be explored.
Stop yourself when you get the gist of it.
"Dear painting of Flaco,
if you wasn't 4 feet x 4 feet,
you would'a made it to crit on time.
Instead you broke free from your harness
and flew backwards onto traffic.
However, at the edge of glorious failure
your luck became you and
you narrowly escaped two semis through the passageway
of only a car and bike lane's space.
Oh, dear, luckier than most
Deer, if I hadn't run to the street,
had that semi have risked it all?"
My comments are "...at least it made it to critique at all."
The classes' comments remain on the story.
Ink for Squids