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MIND GAMES

We the fortunate ones

Those who weren't sanitized at once

At least from biblical pandemics

Those anointed theological comics 

Black sheep in the day, white wolf at night

We were saved anyway, by grace not might.


It hasn't been any different from what I sought,

That bottle of oil my wife had bought

To save our son we gracefully begot.

Borges was our patrimonial argot

But He asked, "Is that all you've got"

Who then is He?

The man who baptized we.


"He" represents all false prophets,

Who studied the holy pamphlets

And to amass for their own pockets,

Deceive the religious illiterates

To unbind any ties with soul mates

Hence, sanitizing their thinking cups.


Unless you buy my oil,

This child will soon be in the soil.

This is how we lost hope

Our faith in him was so dope

Trusted he could help us cope,

Bishop Corona was only an expired coke

Who had semblance of a good Pope.



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