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.

Thursday, 27 October 2011

EMERGE

So you're telling me with just one
BLACK LITTLE BOX
Your entire world will slither,
Like the snake you are,
Back into a shattered cup
Careening between this world and the next,
Suspended,
FALLING WITHOUT GRACE.
And I'm speaking with a mouth
Burnt to ashes
By the inferno in my SOUL.
WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR:
I have ice in my veins and an
AGONY
For SPITTING FIRE
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1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Wow. I would NOT want to piss you off.

6 November 2011 at 17:32

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