Taken From Absurdity

Sometimes people say things
And all I can do
Is verbalize a shrug:
“What can I say?”
And sometimes
She looks at me
With those dancing eyes
And I get lost
And I sadly wonder:
“What can I say?”

I could say pages of things
Enough to fill the landfill so wastefully full
Of Atari cartridges
And so much of it would be utter garbage
The perfect match to the things I decry.
But alas what am I
But that which is silent and instead,
Saying nothing,
I rob all of something?

But isn’t it easier
To choose silence?
To bow to the way things are?
Moving nowhere
Neither backward or forward
And pause,
Indefinitely at
“What can I say?”

I could say enough to fill pages
…
…
…
And rob all of something.

Does the between even matter?
I don’t know where to go.
I’m stuck in the mud of
“What can I say?”