In Santo

I eat the DNA of troubled corn.
Its chromosomes divide
And are reborn.
I feel the burden of its pedigree
Recombine and try to replicate
Within me,
But the hybrid nature of it's seed
And the patent held by law degrees
Won't let it multiply or divide,
And so it keeps its secret kerneled up inside.
It's not nutritional or digestible,
Just institutional,
Not re-growable
In the native soil from which it sprang.

Its sadness starves me
And makes me want to eat
Anything and everything I see,
But wheat has already died within my soul,
And something deep within me
Bids me, stop, and eat the the scroll.
But as I stop to try to digest the corn,
The only thing I glean
From it is abortion.

-jenn