the tunnel painted on the cliff.
The painter followed in close pursuit;
suspending disbelief, speeding up.
He hit the wall. Flattened.
Peeled slowly off the rock.
Flat on the ground.
Paper-thin. Lifeless.
But this was not the end of the coyote.
The scene changed, and vigor re-entered him.
Up from the ground he arose.
Made a quick order to Acme,
and schemed anew.
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