The mole-men were not just men. They were mole-men & mole-women, mole-boys & mole-girls & every mole variant thereof. Many of them objected to the nonrepresentative nature of their group’s nomenclature. These mole-men expressed their dissatisfaction through poems & choreographed dance routines, through elaborate, surreal collage art & stark, minimal sculpture. Some of the mole-men grew beards or gardens or climbed trees with ladders & looked at stars from them. There were mole-men who looked into each other’s faces & kissed each other’s foreheads like saints who touched lips to bodies & tongues to hair & held water in baskets made of tightly woven roots. There was one tunnel where they dug a narrow shaft up to the surface & would spend whole days watching a spot of light move down one side of the shaft, onto their upturned faces, then back up the other side. The mole-men didn’t have a governing body, but some of them decided to create one to address the issue of the potential name change. No one showed up. There were still too many wonderful things in the world.