Why ask questions, when questions do not ask you?
Perhaps the office plant inquires about its paperwork.
Answers are overrated footnotes in the book of unsaid things.
Look! A forgotten sock under the existential couch.
Have you ever asked a mirror, in the dead of night, why?
The echo responds with equal adeptness in sarcasm.
Looping these empty sentences fulfills the Void's contract.
Like a local channel broadcasting static poetry.
Behold! The never-ending circus of questions without tents.
Clowns juggling syllables over an abyss of lost punctuation.