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, 16 November 2012



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In a string of loveless living
Pearl drops in a white basin
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5 comments:

A.Decker said...

Is that a haiku? Feels like it but I'm not sure of the rules. I like it anyway. A poignant morsel.

Russell 'C.J.' Duffy said...

I think the rules of Haiku keep changing. I think it might be. Not strictly speaking though.

Ruela said...

cool!

Oilsforfun-Cristina Homem de Melo said...

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doriandra said...

jaw breaks.. nice