Wordle #41 “Conceit”

Wordle 41 Dec. 29

They gaze upon

His conceit

His mischief

The strangle hold

Of his ridicule

On their bridled necks.

He erects blinds

That his neighbors

Might not find

Fodder for scandal

But whether gelatin

Or steel the scars

Within his heart still set.


The rise and fall

Of his draftsack

Does not belie

The poverty within.

An illeist grumble

Erupts at the intersection

The Apocalypse dawns

Brick by brick

The ghetto unveils

Its atrocities

The fizzle of hunger

Of the underfed

And eager intellect

Education is necessary

But who will guarantee

The right?


His face the color

Of zinc, crude and hypoxic

Whirs like an android.

A sour kiss seals

The lungs once

The quintessential element

Has been extracted.

All it takes is a coin

To reverse a man’s fate

A slip and the grave

Will well up around him

Like a vulture’s vociferous flight.


My cold has been followed by fevers and headaches, why the fevers are coming after the other symptoms are passing I have no idea.