Pens

Everywhere increasing
With no policing
Against penetration
Of every surface and location
Filling the world
Fingers clutching curled
Never releasing
Writing unceasing
Tapping and too many
10 for a penny
Disappearing every time
It should be a crime
Rolling around
Where they go confounds
Hands try to find
Later resigned
Then from nowhere
It rolls to the brink
My pen I snare
But it has no ink