The pen that lies on the desk across the room from where I sit is not moving.   It is still . . .

It’s not waiting . . . that would be me doing that . . . and it, the pen, hasn’t run out of ink . . . and, in truth, it’s hardly idle . . . that pen . . .

. . . taunts the writer . . .

                . . . teases the thinker . . .

. . . sneers at the timid . . .

        . . . reminds the bill payer and the shopper and the list maker and the parent . . .

And, yet, has remained perfectly still . . .

                           . . . while being actively engaged with the energies surrounding it . . .

I suspect it is my teacher

While it hasn’t done a thing.

                                                               see?

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