You, the Dead, Defer to Me

You, the dead, defer to me.

In the Shining Ones my seeds are sown.

Though you lesser daimones get your bone

I reverse our piety.

I compel you to agree.

Goddess gets chablis and quiche lorraine.

You the dead I charm with sugarcane.

Suck on this and work for me.

We, the living, will be free.

Revolution shoots a pheromone.

Catch the scent of it the breeze has blown.

We're no feckless bourgeoisie.

Hid within the dust we see

All your ancient lives I now entrain

Crack them with a whip of hurricane

Crack the castle to debris.

You, the future, will be free.

Make of me your eager stepping-stone.

Rip my will to shreds and write your own.

Stir the scraps into your tea.

Sip, and plot your destiny.


Todd Jackson

has published in Snakeskin Poetry Ezine; in Circe's Cauldron: Pagan Poems and Tales of Magic and Witchcraft published by Biblioteca Alexandrina; in The Road Not Taken: A Journal of Formal Poetry; in ActiveMuse; and in The Q Gallery: Art of the Quarantine.

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After Empire

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