Persist and Pursue

Stiff it rests along the grooves of my thumb and forefinger, 
proclamating my inner requisitions requiring 47 muscular inquisitions to proceed a thought,
the simple thought that casts a shadow upon my eyelids,
the thought that persists and pursues the action of active inclination in the form of an image occurring in my conscious rendering of reality,
in which i am constantly being persuaded to be real,
but real is real in the sense that it is not,
and to be quite honest,
neither are you,
but fortunately and unfortunately that is the reality of this non-reality heavy with duality,
which consists of one true characteristic which incompetently categorizes my intuitions,
tis not my brain,
nor my mind,
but the pen which is my hand as well as the hand which is my pen,
which is my pen,
which is my pen,
which is not my pen,

nor ever has it been or will it be.