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.

Friday 10 June 2011

Patience

Every second I stay awake

My breath is a betrayal




Against the night

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

This appeals to me on a pre-conscious level...