View of a Biro

From above,

the pen is unmoving, turquoise and pointed,

an arrow unflown with a clip to connect.

From above,

the point is right at me, accusing, unfaithful,

brassy and linked to a sauce deep within.

From above,

the far end’s a button, a little snow pillar

or a cigarette butt-end that longs to be licked.

From above,

the colour is ocean, a dazzle, a dayglo,

so bright that a seagull or finger attacks.

From above,

when I get closer, inside is a capsule,

chilly as cuttlefish, sugar or salt.

When I take hold,

the pen is a river, silently swerving

divisions of potency, power full stop.