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ArtistKeep as is
Ash-faced prophet
standing in the throat of the mountain,
he kept his songs like magma—
slow, black, and under pressure.
The sky trembled around his collar.
Crows turned in the heat like burnt paper.
When he spoke, windows sweated salt
and the dead leaned closer to listen.
His heart was a crater
full of red weather and choirs.
Even silence erupted around him,
glowing through the dark
like lava learning to sing.