Poets

No, I have not fathers, I have only sons proceeding into progeny and I'm completely wary that I'm not wrong. I can't be wrong. Half a dozen fathers of mine bygone - the dilettante terminals especially on living matters. Yes, today, they are deeply burdened by the particles of the rammed down particles of the soil - the soil that grounds a home stationed far away - faraway in an unholy shrine on the other side. A history in this very minute obsolete. Yes! an archaic history that is today utterly obsolete.
Khumalo oh Khumalo my progeny, Khumalo my very infinite beginning and Khumalo my finite end. The very end is as the very beginning, for I was there to train up a son; a son deemed a serpent of two heads, two bodies and two tails, a Devil interposing the mind of a man and causing him very intricately complex forms of absolute fear - even the lord of paradise is one the fears therein. Where they positively postulate the future, I get to only remember the negative past - the past herein are all the continuous affairs of the tracking yesteryears. In the very end, I'd have meant for all of this to be an incitation of my secret life. Oh the heavy burden of leading profound degrees of blinded living. I will occasion it in vivid color and in elucidated brightness. I'm about to exhume the most grievous experiences of my buried treasures, I will reveal my skeletons while I am still in this difficult life of being in a resounding exile.
Arbitrarily, if you therefore murder and bury a..