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.

Sunday, 10 April 2011

Contemplation

Les buées griffues de transe et d'eau
érigent l'oeil,
montent en son angle,
s'éloignent.

Écarquillé
sous la prunelle,
le sombre poids encre les bribes,
les froissements et vocalises
de consistance
enluminée.

Afin de nouer
les langues mortes,
l'artiste s'assoit, effeuille l'artiste.
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2 comments:

Ruela said...

La mélancolie infinie de l'artiste, bravo!

10 April 2011 at 22:20
Laurent Fièvre said...

Merci Albano...

10 April 2011 at 22:47

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