ASSIGNMENT IS INKED/THE INK IS WET

I carry a passport that’s sealed in rapist semen

and bleeding boundaries with bullets as cover 

Concealing all weapons formed against it

The slave dungeons a sign of rage and 

radical mourning

A message gashing against the shorelines 

The voice ravaging against the wind 

and wild waves 

I must be from the Poets, Musicians, Visionaries, Seers,

the liberation Knowers who arrived 

on strange lands

To hand me this pen.