It's growing; developing

It's growing, developing
like a cancer
inside the canteen with
moisture; dank and heavy
hotness we'd drink upon
to quell our savior's thirst
and send our cries
to bed late at night. singing
thirstily, my god springs
thru the swamp, thru
the weeds and settles
on a lily-pad with his tongue
lolling about, dumbly
like he can make it
past the mist and turn
religious. Perfect size
for the wanting kind, he
sheds his mane and grows
through flames towards
sky and smoke; untamed.

jewels diamond his mouth,
and he tells everyone:
you can have it--
me. you've just as much
to pray as you believe
and dont question
such bothersome sights.

spare me
the bottom-feeding
sanctity inside yourself;
those rash calculations
of determined reasoning.

the virus is inside us
all and we've succumbed
like bowing to its feet.
the skies slant downwards;
in sheets of rain we wrap
ourselves
underneath the covers:
rapt submission
to demi-gods and jesus
Christs'.