Comments about Mark Heathcote
Cold brackish heart waters don't flow backwards
They trickle underground—ceasing slowly to be
Evaporating to salt crystal tear duct, caverns
That slowly collapse to a point of singularity.
There they get dabbed away, O blue flame
Why is it they ignite this ongoing pain
This rhapsody of emotion once thought overcame
It's too difficult to control and ascertain.
Blue flame eternal: frist love is you now