Those little things that
Don’t add up
Or make sense.
Those things that
Don’t sit quite right.
Are they concealing something larger?
When, finally, we lift this old stone from the mossy earth,
Will we find, writhing on the ground,
Churning in the dirt,
Attempting to flee the scene,
Creatures without mouths, without eyes?
In place of a man, will we find a nest of lies?