Kenton K. Yee
Aqua Blues
I didn’t paint tonight. Didn’t need to.
When you stick beauty in a studio,
desire becomes the art. Without it,
stucco and glass are just reflections
and lights. With it, everything’s a sign
of truth. Once, I saw her up close
between the pineapples and yams.
She didn’t say what she must have felt
and I didn’t feel what I said. You see,
I, too, can be artful, recklessly so.
Where are the yellows? Nowadays,
we desire from afar, wear shoes
with no pants. It takes a village.
Insurance? Better safe than worry.
Kenton K. Yee reads “Aqua Blues”
Kenton K. Yee recently placed poetry in Plume Poetry, RHINO, Sugar House, Mantis, Hawaii Pacific, Indianapolis, I-70, Threepenny, Constellations, Valparaiso Poetry, Spoon River Poetry, and Rattle, among others. Kenton holds a PhD in theoretical physics from UCLA and a law degree from Stanford. He writes from Northern California.