The Dark Angels are a come and go crew. They create then disappear like street art. Their works exist in fragments, particles that float, dust motes that spin before the wind that blows them to faraway places. They are individuals that work as one. Deep as oceans, as impenetrable as the night. Art urchins and poets, they dissolve before they form. They are the Dark Angels, they are discharge. They are a bloody mouthful.

Tuesday 19 April 2011

Le trouble

La roche
embrasée
de reflets effluents
s'effrite
non sans mal
par les marées
lactées.

Magnétiques
ses présents
assurés
délectables
font rougir les écueils
terres inertes
bancs de sable.