Of the River and other works by Quess

Quess been scriptin' since been scriptin' since been scriptin'... came upon his moniker during his second year in college when he decided that amidst all the cacophous confusion, chaotic illusion, and constricting contusion: that he and his many astral forms would clandestinely conspire to: words sum cathartic collusion in order to upset the set up as it were. It was anyone's guess where the quest would lead, thus the 2 words hybridized were the most apt dubbing of his essence. now he weaves his essence over dub, rock, drum & bass, whatever sonic tapestries suffice to transport the stowaways of his lungs to space. yours, his, hers... my...space. voila: behold the verbal vagabonds of a distant oasis. amplification of amoebic lifeforms set sail to swim in the annals of your breathy imagination. find him there. or on the many stages he's rocked from his native Brooklyn (Moon cafe'), NY to his second home New Orleans, LA (GoldMine, JuJu Bag,Tru Brew Cafe' and Ebony Square) to his 3rd rock away from the sun of his origins, his collegiate Tallahassee, Fl where he put it down consistently for half a decade with the critically acclaimed Black on Black Rhyme poetry collective and even as far as Beijing, China in front of an international crowd. his spitfire energy ignites crowds of all backgrounds with the very electric undercurrent prevalent in his words. words from Quess? himself: "yea this fellow is a bit detached. he usually doesn't come out to play unless i tell him there's something free involved (food, music, entry...). and he can give you a detailed account of his intestines as his excessive introspection has caused his head to be indefinitely lodged in his ass. but if and when you knead some inspirational word's he's got you. now if he could just break that speaking in 3rd person thing...

in search of

glimpses of a chimera
glance at the underside
of gilded lens
wax soft
does the froth of light
upon jaundiced gaze

these echoes of
                      subterranean sound
are genteel kisses
             from my lover's lips
affectionate puppy licks
that become fleeting guppies

in smothered aqueducts

all these years
head in sand
in search of

while the winds willed whimsical
on the land above

i return to bloated cadavers
beached dreams strewn like confetti
about the Normandy of my Now

as I remember

Piscean passion
creeping murkily in the undertow



Of the River

I'm traversing road upon the New Orleans Bayou
somewhere among the Lagniappe of Bouchet's Boondocks

… Anger…

carving its curvature into the latent recesses of my cranium
a searing signature that emblazons itself in red
atop the murky crimson undertow
of haunted passions that flow
in the riverbed of boiling blood beneath bronze flesh


the progeny of fear
I wonder what propels me more
-what leads me here?
as I peruse these alien highways of the American South
where once upon a thyme men and women of my hue
presumably tilled these now waylaid wetlands
to the tune of backlashes from hovering overseers

these alien swamplands… what of them?

what of the menstrual flow of beautiful women whose painfully necessary hygienic underpinnings are neatly carted off into sterile safe boxes?
what of security and federated emergency management logistically funneled through American highways designated for tanks and military contraband?
what of the highways belied by byways garnished in bristling leaf and wood that protrudes knifingly thru the placid face of wind swept swamp waters?

God's little bushels of thought
they are truncated tree stumps and sketchy vestiges of horticultural imaginings
only half sprung-weather beaten to an autumnal brown
scattered menacingly atop the calm face of the metallic silver swamp water
like roaches in project hallways
an ancient reminder of life sprung haplessly from water
a cosmic harbinger of the infinite pattern-existential ejaculation
from a well of darkness whose depths remain unknown
it is this well
this amorphous untouchable
this malleable ethereal vagabond
whose frequency finds form and flesh in wandering wetlands
subatomic amoeba
drifting Piscean thought
trumpet wails from Byrd
ascending harp chords from Alice Coltrane in devotion to the goddess…

that we package in plastic veneer
concealing the violence of its innards
that we imprison in bar codes and ship off to the highest bidder
cosmic consciousness caged in the cacophony of commerce
her beauty minced in make up
in preparation for the murder circus that is market
her waters sealed in softness
a soil now sullied and soured by time
~pinned down in cobblestone~
…conquered by concrete…

Baby I wanna taste you
Engulf My Face in You
Swim In You
Naked and Raw
Girl I'll drink yo' swamp water till you wiggle your leafy toes in that cool
Mississippi River Breeze

You give me chills to the tune of primordial thrills that spill across my flesh all legion like-goose bumping to a syncopated timeless rhythm that proves I'm ILL!

For too long the purity of your disease has been siphoned off into safe ways
Reviled and Vilified
Publicly Victimized
Lucidity Lynched

your waters vanquished to vapor amidst the violence of vaginal probe

you have been
Bombed for Peace
Killed for Prosperity
Smothered in Compliments
Suffocated in False Flattery
Praised for Manipulation
Exalted for Control

and now here you lay
on the banks of the Mississippi
placid and virginal
waylaid and world weary
unexpectant but prepared…
for the next disaster, search and seizure

we have smothered you in concrete but your children sing from the rocks. Ancestors whisper through wind chimes. bed-robed in dormancy to the naked eye, you dance a seductive hula to a violent verve of Brazilian Samba emanating from the cusp of a sensory crevice

and here I sit
in the Bayou Boondocks
Saintly patience persistent as Paul
Bunyan-esque in my belligerent perch
atop the stolid form of anger's mountain

I hearken unto thee
till rocks give way
to soil I till
that leads me back
to you