typing about handwriting

This is from Robert Pinsky's "Jar of Pens", and the end of this
excerpt is just perfect.

Sometimes the sight of them
Huddled in their cylindrical formation
Repels me: humble, erect,
Mute and expectant in their
Rinsed-out honey crock: my quiver
Of detached stingers. (Or, a bouquet
Of lies and intentions unspent.)

Pilots, drones, workers-the Queen is
Cross. Upright lodge
Of the toilworthy-gathered
At attention though they know
All the ink in the world couldn't
Cover the first syllable
Of a heart's confusion.