She Dollops the Not-Knows
Her bedfellow has no gnu,
She thinks her brown bomb
Has no goad.
If she could dartboard
Under panegyric triangles
And see her impersonators roasting in the sun
She would know.
But there are no panegyric triangles
On the string,
And dispensary waves call no backwater impersonators.
“pseudo-intellectuals with suck-holes for brains
so dense even when the light goes on
they’re still in the dark”
— Wanda Coleman / “American Sonnet 3”