Bill Costley


cuts off all her hair, as you have;
mine grows longer by the month.
Women refusing romanticism,
men casually embracing it,
no one the wiser yet for it.
Someone, somewhere, says it
betokens convergences,
says it says unisex is out,
says it says the sexes are
into it again, again. I would be
with you if you would have me.


Bill Costley


She appears in the eyes of the child across the aisle
of an express train hurtling to London,
her father an immature Geordie,
her mother a tolerant Cockney.
Neither has time for her now.
Her beauty astounds you, as
She holds her long fingers to her mouth
To pop her bubblegum while
Her paleblue eyes regard you,
writing w/a pen quickly on a yellow pad
streaking towards Peterborough
on the way to King's Cross.


Bill Costley


"Wet Dreams" speedboat cuts a wake between us
as I cast pebbles @ nearby lobster buoy 3278J
its one red star on white bobbing as
I cast my thoughts towards you,
like handfuls of pebbles,
none touching you @all.
I think of you on Lac Neuchatel
with its palisades, spinnakers, utterly unlike
sober Salem's as my heart treads water, like
a heavy black bird, rising to 1', skimming out the inner harbor.

These poems are from a neosonnet series "Hammered Silver" written in Scotland, England and New England in 1985.


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