In the Wellsprings of the Ear

In the Wellsprings of the Ear brings together the best of the stunningly original poems in his previous 3 volumes, plus 17 new pieces brimming with the Celtic devilment and music that have made him a unique voice in American poetry. No one else writes like this.

House on the High Road

High lady low road the red treasureAgain on my hands, my intentionI swear was words onlyA reasoned package to deliver her, Therefore I went

My both hands empty and outheldShe could see, she could seeSuch innocent bare anglesMy thoughts cutCrossing the last stones

Now the dogs burn for my own bloodTherefore the low road (the highis policed by submissions)This red on my hands I cryUp to the troubled assemblies

Was words, I swear, was words only