Biro poetry doesn’t work
It does not flow or fill the page with easy thoughts
The pen is a bulky lover, rather than the finer bodied pencil
It gives no quarter in correction, and scribbling out is just a messy affair
So it is unsatisfactory, clumsy and clogging
Oh for my pencil, where have you gone, my love?
Your fine point skating the velum,
An extension of my mind
Allowing expression beyond such coarse biro
******!