CHILD OF THE CORN

Fascinate, mirror,
though I pledge to you,
I find corpulent, berry-colored, corpuscles
on tender surfaces.

                        How dare you do 
                        this demonstration?

Considering dinner,
spinning over
my lethal crops,
its many syrups corrupt.

Child of the corn
with the gold tassels in hair,
dried maize kernels in ears.
I renounce you, corn.

The ground shrugs a little in a field
to the east–
though still mid-west.

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