Tuesday, 16 November 2010

Untitled (15th-16th Nov 2010)

South to North
Foxhole Diplomacy
Get your Warhead on
Make up bag full of face paint
Full Spectrum
Blaring Our Fear in Technicolor
Through a London bus window seat
Could I be a European Bastard Child of Stress and Misery?
She is perfect form and perfect nothing nothingness
Early rises for Eternal balance
Erudite though I might be
Such elevation eludes me
And the hours that keep me
The void people fill and language maps
Collapses inward
Existing in three times
Telling me what I always remembered
Words are never without owners
And Sentiments are never without intent or consequence
In this false economy
Disdaining property
As sinful when you don’t believe in sin
Gives a fleeting monopoly
On the highest ground without an in
Above the flood
But beyond Humanity
The air thins
And you breathe your last
Lonely and cold
Stones Cast Without Sin
Come back around to become
Your pillow
Your bed
Your place of rest
Paving the way for the next wave of tests
Of Tanks, of Troops, of Talks
Laying the foundation
For the walls that curve and bend around us all
Within these four that I call mine for now
I’m talking through and around
To check the pulse of peace and joy
And Reason and Rhyme
Our hearts are still beating...
This is not finished
Our hearts are still beating
This is the Magical Realness
Our hearts are still beating
Without the aid of machines
Our hearts are still beating
We EQd the ECG Flatline
Check 1
Check 1 girl or check myself
Bring it back in space and time
Regret I'm tasting mine and swallowing
Leading from the back and following
The guiding lights of beacons lit by trailblazers
Recovering the greatness
Denied by our condition
Temporary position
And not pausing for food, water or stock options
Even on the spot
The possible against the sunset of expectations
And the moonrise of hope
Full, Pink tinged, Billous
The man up there
Is on the lam
From a life left behind
Travelling into an afterlife
Of splendid stellar isolation
His regrets shining
Embedded in the firmament that defies our primitive horizons
Reminders of the space between them
Seeds he sprinkled
Absentmindedly in unripe sky
Now they burn beyond control
and he shelters on the dark side
Permanent night providing his style advice
And shame and resentment his permanent smouldering accesories
He lets them off
Streaking the skies
Like blood in Delta sands
And we look up
Catch a glimpse and call them beautiful
Never wondering where they come from or where they go when they fade
Falling to earth
Like the screens we stay stuck too
That marshall our labour
That project our liberty
That educate our children
That are educating us
Pull the plug
And see if you're still breathing
Working, Free,Learning
But don't fool yourself that the man in the moon is any better off
Set it off
Technology is the vehicle
Not the driver
So don't blame it for being drunk
On booze or power
Remember that when the meteors shower
Or your choir reaches critical mass
Yet can't break the Sound Barrier
Your tools are the carrier
Your voice is the virus
Would you rather be an analogue Jesus or Digital Osirus?
Essence exhausted on dual carriage super highways
Being passed by a thousand different Mash Up Messiahs
Transforming Observation to Obligation
We see the potential in the heart of the pitstop pariah
And don't stop for service
We stop to start serving

Monday, 11 October 2010


It’s a powerful and scary place
Rough Men down below excavate the old and set the foundation
For more growths alongside us.
More steel and glass to encase distant neighbours
More flat carpet space between islands
To give this inertia a sense of purpose we cut figures of poise and containment
Runway lights on our ceiling make me want to take off arms spread wide
Chest bared to the arrow and the hailstones
I’m hoping to hit flesh and stick
Fresh, presentable, slick shoes a week off next polish
I’ve tried to sanitise this inspiration
But I want to be wet, sweaty and exhausted
Panting in giddy glee with you
And if that doesn’t sound attractive what can I do?
This clean sanity is so damn boring
I can’t sleep and in these late nights
I go travelling, fantasies run wild
Don’t want to live life like a widower by a graveside
So I’m bursting through this window to touch the fresh air
Clutching at rising wildflowers
Tasting the sickness of the city and feeling it lift
As the wind lifts me and takes me beyond
Above over and out into the Ocean above where lights pierces but never wounds and Darkness falls in shades making us beautiful
Spectrum washing over us to illuminate what lies beneath our skin
Symmetry in synergy like iron rich desert sands shifting physically
Colour Changing instantly
It’s a reaction and an anticipation
A powerful provocation
More than just a craving
It’s Boukman inciting Haitians to burn plantations
It’s a Chemical, Physical, Biological Fascination
Alive in my imagination and becoming flesh with every breath infectious with every step growing larger stronger bolder every little loving liberation growing larger stronger bolder every single act or thought or message pure growing larger stronger bolder larger, stronger bolder, than the power, larger stronger bolder than the fear larger stronger bolder than limitation we stand tall we see we hear we know we understand
This is what we have to hold to cherish to make our own and we’ll never let it slip slide, drift, let it go, never, as the waterless waves blow and unseen hands stitch our lives together now and these stories are told we can’t see the seams just feel the folds ripple along our smooth surfaces caressing those sore patches... good wine to a thirsty throat.

Tuesday, 5 October 2010

(Untitled)1-4th October

Buddha Heads and Pot Plants

Inhabit this space

Spot-lit stage where no performance will pass

Shadows fall

And hope rises

Grace exists in the stillness of

A Poet in the land of nobody

When the night draws down its curtain

Over this bare window

Nothing changes

The cryptic questions we never answer

But don’t stop trying to

Paralyse me now

Force my hand and shade my tomorrow

Slumps and highs

Push me to push on a red door in a quiet street

After red bus journey to you

On the way here I

Saw the old man from the bookshop

Scuttling under the streetlamps

He walked quicker once he heard my footsteps

The fear evident in his voice when he acknowledged my greeting

In the dark fledging friendships vanish

And we yearn for safe arms length anonymity

This Sunday has been atypical

I played dominoes in a bowling alley and retired on a winning streak

I cooked simple food slowly and enjoyed it alone

With the rain drumming along

And then it came back to me

We’re asking for something more but

The requested operation requires elevation

In surplus city we’re all skating

On ice that gets thinner with every passing day

Even as the temperature drops

And the rain drops

And the pound drops

And the Bass drops

And the shells drop

And the bodies drop

And the penny drops

Into the gory gutter

And the stench rises

And the smoke rises

And the high rises

And the flats rise

Into the plane streaked sky

But fall short of greatness

Cement Ceilings on the hopes of generations

Black hoods for the voiceless

Shielding them from the cold world they’re facing

On suspended walkways to nowhere

Looking for the perfect angle for the run up to the moment where their wings emerge and they hit the evening breeze in flight

Beyond the grey walls and neon bars

Further than every man with a price

Past the low horizon of this empire
There’s more
Past the low horizon of this empire
There’s more
Past the low horizon of this empire
There’s so much more

Thursday, 9 September 2010

(September 2010)

Connected, flowing
Sometimes charge builds, overloads and shorts
Sparks fly and we get back to the matter
Distant Relatives valuing our worth and that of this earth
How can we not be humbled by this creation?
Though I preach peace, love, unity
I'm a flawed man and sometimes there's no getting through to me
Through reflection and learning to learn to avoid repetition
I'll grow forward, embracing death each second it approaches
Leading where I can, Following where I should and showing love
For the roles of my brothers and sisters
Comfortable with a roof over my head
Good food and Great Music
I beam my attention to those who lack such material security
But have heart and minds that stay sharp
Striving for perfection and cultivating happiness
Not bemoaning every movement the world makes that doesn't make
Them feel like they're whom its revolving for
Travel opens doors
Not minds
That’s up to you
Count your blessings. hold firm , stay true
To that spirit of adventure
Making memories, Making futures
Shaping Strong Mountains and banquets from our imagination
Soundtracked by the pulse of the ocean
In infinite track audio caress
Like a single struck sonar note from the centre of the earth
Reaching heaven and still ascending
To bring the joy home

Lip Service

Woke up
Can feel the blood at the back of my throat
Taste the bitter bill, swallow it whole
Machines whirring, machines glowing, machines throbbing
Blinds drawn, sun starves outside
Oh my
Eastern visitors, Modern Art, Echo and Delay
Emotions reverbarate around this body
That never had the word to say
Just words to pay lip service to a world past hate
Lip service like a retirement clock,
A commemorative plate
Lip surface to Lip surface
In a pursed kiss
The only means left to burst this bubble
Silk sheen curve disappears and we're wet
The flawed lips service purpose fully feeling our being
Where the words distance
Cold Icy Angular
No machines impede this moment, this movement we have created together
Lips lead where words fear to follow and bodies meet at the service
Of the precedent
Lips bleed where words are hollow
And our bodies echo with the evidence.

Monday, 23 August 2010


Been slipping
Losing belief in my power to overcome these contradictions
Hungover, sloppy, horny
Settling for lusts not desires
For material
Not values
These conversations
WHAT it is we WANT
WHAT it is we MEAN
OUR relationships
Our community
Strengthen my resolve
To be better
To be strong
To be powerful
To celebrate tradition and create new ones
To respect Elders and Youth
To inspire
Not Least by my example
as a human being.

Opportunity (August 2010)

Wide margins made it easy to keep slipping
Until we went beyond
Now you’re stretched out in space and I’m spinning
To hold you again like a cherished memory or maybe just a warm body
While we stayed temporary I had no intimation of loss falling upon me
Then you went and it came
Do I have any right to it?
Didn’t I get what I wanted once I pursued it?
It’s pressing on my conscience and I don’t feel like fighting it,
The notion that I deserve to suffer like this if I learn through it
The candle used to have two ends until I burnt through it.
Now its just wax
Pooling and solidifying until it cracks
Its mystifying
What drives me like a blind panic to try and take it all
Even racing through the Sabbath
Work, play, save, spend, fuck, connect, empathise
Collect,dispense, beg, bestow, borrow, lend
Go against the grain and follow the trend
Creating new life forms at worlds end
Feels like crunching gems
Underfoot whilst scrabbling at the coal face
Clawing out the earths heart under god’s gaze
These are deep days and yet somehow
Business as usual,
Crucial, brutal
Yet gentle when I move to you
Groove with you
Amongst the sleepers
Spent so much now I just feel cheaper
Breath Shallow
Thoughts Deeper
Breath Shallow
Thoughts Deeper
Breath Shall Allow Another
Attempt to transform what the last left weaker.

Tuesday, 17 August 2010

Bad News

One morning
That call will swallow the world around you
A brother, a sister, a parent, a niece
One morning the bad news will be yours
One morning the bad news will be me

Quenching vices, bathroom excess
To lamplit pavement beaten senseless
Blood drying on the grey concrete
Your red breath atomised
The beauty of a burning butterfly
The bad news will be me

Everything must go
So come right back here
Heaven is living
In high def projection
In the cupboard under the stairs
I am living
An infection
Bred for you to bear
So cross me
The path burnt in your flesh
A spaghetti junction of scar tissue
With a Minotaur branding
A barcode cipher never issued
And when you scan
You get trapped in between
A choral tape looping incessantly
soundtracks this hurt
Lending occasional sense
In a hollow vessel

One evening
That presence will define the sphere around you
A secret, a lie, something revealed
One evening the bad news will be us
One evening the bad news will be whole

Sunday, 8 August 2010


Vile she wrote
Lazy and Vile
Using Nice
Using Fun
Must try harder to find that adjective
That stops the downward digging or at the very least
Moves the epicentre of activity
Beneath this woman’s Feet
To destabilise that vigour and bring both to the same level
Full of glints and exploration
Hints not explanations
Right now
I’m not sure of aspirations
But she’s got me thinking of adjectives
I could stop right now
Could go back to work
But I can’t accept defective
There must be a single, descriptive,
To capture the moment
And make another

Later words fail and contradictory emotions dominate
This friend of a friend
This boy
This proud young man
Who won’t say where he’s been
Is he a Tool, a Weapon, a walking trigger
A victim of determined fate?
Or a killer, cold, callous, in control
I wonder if he’s ever looked a Palestinian in the eyes and pulled it
Or if he ever will have to
Whilst his country pays for it
And mine too
And this friend, of ethics and high mind
Shows him so much love
It’s hard to compute
Now I’m comparing
In the contrast of this solitude
The hypocrisy of that anger
Placed against this individual
The places I’ve been
The things I’ve benefitted from
And I would judge a soldier on his incoming
Because of where he’s from?
Because he didn’t object
What does his conscience say at night
When drink and meetings don’t overpower it.
And there’s no audience to play too, no strong pose to strike?


When I’m well fed and well sexed
I don’t wax so poetic
The pad gets neglected
Like I narrow my perspective
Or maybe just switch
Carrying misgivings
This escape could be addictive
Am I talking what im living or just talking without giving?
If I’m not writing then I must not be fighting
Still driving just not so…driven
Picking just the right message to wear
Without sharing the body beneath
Flesh gets old
Not enough to entertain
Defiant in defence of what remains
Times tides won’t wash away what this brain contains
I’ll leave a mark and keep building
Castles in the sky
Foundations reaching for the stars
The Gods
Shaped like question marks
And forged from beats
My heart skipped
Solid flowing
When the officers of anarchy
Uphold the lawlessness
And the judges prevaricate exquisitely
Into infinity
And then
At the end of the line
She stuck fresh flowers in a tired wine bottle
With marionettes hanging
And created a home
Port and creaky floorboards
Hollow Golden Legends
Drums and thumb pianos
The summery rain
Doesn’t sound so summery
But it feels right
I’m thinking I should step outside
And touch.

Thursday, 6 May 2010


The same old fucking song
the same old hunting horns
The same tame legitimising mockery

It's not enough and if we can't imagine what could be
Then we deserve even less for selling short the magic and joy
Selling short our history and the future
Like so much expendable stock

The same old market
The same old dreams
The same bitter resigned sniping

Where's the bravery, where's the heart?
The grace, the passion, the art?
We've got it all amongst us, moving, electric with possibility
All we need to do is join the dots to escape the plague of pinstripe murder mimicry
We're part of this now let's turn it inside out

These same old barriers
This same old guard
That self same smug cynicism
Fuck it
We're all artists, creators, people of the craft
So let's set pace, redefine our hope of sense and our tense of place
So we trust the inner shining voice
And we talk the future, in it's lightest trace

The same old beauty
The same old love
The same unbeatable , indefatigable, humble human spirit.

Friday, 23 April 2010


A billion dead,
A billion dead souls at your feet
Blood on your hands, smile on your face
For the punch and judy trick show
Selective Memory
Selective questions
From a selective source
Avoid the poverty, discrimination, the other world outside your bubble
Where the choices are black and white and red washes out so easily
Liberation by bullet, Liberation by Gas
Uranium and killer drones to do your bidding
And your consensus sits secure
Don't talk about the bodies, anything but that,
A billion dead souls, no body bags
Warmongers never stand in the line of fire
But mark these words
One day you'll burn, consumed by your own dark desire

Monday, 12 April 2010

(Autumn 2009)

You remind me what's important; no agenda or plan
Universal traveller, living Africa; values, family, time and love
Each little without the other
You're balanced, appreciative of the world within you and without
Wise enough to be frivolous and talented enough to learn
Paying your respects whilst retaining your liberty, free to choose the mode of your becoming

I picture you content by a fireside or barefoot on a windy beach, calm, in real time, and knowing when and if the universe intends it
Your love is there to be earned.

Sunday, 11 April 2010


Please never stop serenading me with the possibility of all to come;
Of motorways broken and buried under magic blossom carpets
Of peaceful men whose sinews no longer recall the shape of a bunched fist and
Whose withered trigger fingers are rendered useless
The metallic urge they once exercised
Smelted and crafted into beautiful worlds
Sing to me of attachment as a myth, a demon our forbears transcended
Of politicans as extinct
Because the demos flourish as artists of life
And the systems we build as expressions of service, gratitude and hope
Not of our mistrust and machine logic
The kingfisher breaks the surface without a sound and enters new worlds
The spirit evolves and forms a new across the point of departure
I love life, acting out these moments, the fruits of which are without master

The warriors of light whom you sing through
Embrace this flesh without caution or question
Even though my desire is not dead
And this flawless love, without reservation,
Overwhelms my soul, shaped by illusion
Television and alcohol could never prepare this being
Just as aceticsm and mantras are not my tick box remedy

The medium, the channel, the Kingfisher's beak
For this soul at this time in this body
Matters as little as matter material fickle flesh reality
Right Intention is everything, without need of attachment to a form or recipe
So in every kick, every ink stroke on paper
In every loving embrace, every gift, every question, every kiss and savoured taste
When you sing universe, and this voice answers
The note rings true, eternal.

Sunday, 4 April 2010

Easter Weekend

Tracks in the grass
Speed limit 15 on the path to nothing
Tracks in the dirt remind me of tractor rut tracks in Witchampton
Warm cola, cricket on TV
Then praise song Sunday perennials
Kissing cousins, late uncles, meadows and bee hives
The trip I'm taking from a marriage motherland to two mothers and their progeny
Curves in on itself, a mobieous loop
I'm wearing Blue with spiky hair whilst staring at depleted stock in the sidings
Whilst Gold rings and their homes on fingers float
above the ground, untarnished.

Vapour Trails
Tails telling belonging and dislocation tales
Behind closed doors we steam up the windows with the hot air of midnight's children
And now is that a sun rising overhead?
Or is our perspective skewed?
A meal and a prayer articulate a better knowledge
Where a watershed means more than just another scummy tidemark
Where love means more than a demographic push button
And cartography,Borders or no Borders,
Can't constrain
Queens posessing Universal Jurisdiction.

Tuesday, 16 March 2010

(March 14th -2)

Down on the ground
The air pulling
Am I that distraction I always feared
But couldn't name?

(14th March)

I want the sleepless nights and lazy days
Building utopia beneath our duvet
I want that
Raised voices and hushed ones
Echoing what our beings say
Without words
Unperturbed by the yardstick of a lifespan
The expectation of definition
That's meaningless
I want to be consumed, transformed, at peace
In every element of our love

Saturday, 20 February 2010

Complication (5th June 2009)

I want to be your complication
I want to disrupt
That which is so still, serene
I can’t help myself
From musing on what could be
Whilst I’m making lists and starting applications
It’s all just butchering the time
I dream I could have spent with you
All the spiky days off
Tripping the active fantastic
Could just be fending off the romance
Of a doomed
Attempt manipulation

And all these manipulations are me contorting myself
To fit that projected framework I craft for you
You’re beyond
Something pure
The essence lives in you
You ask those questions
The rest are too ashamed to touch

Smarter than that
Smarter than me Tied to nothing except your happiness
You’re ascending
Whilst I spin through the maelstrom
Hands reaching into the sky
Now I’m out in the open
Target of time’s arrows
Willingly accepting this moment
Reading life mediated and second guessing
Are past times long now past
I corkscrew forward
Heads glancing off and giving new ducts with every breath
Exhilarated Exhalation tinged red
Skin flapping into untidy translucence and exposing whatever lays beneath
Light shining straight on through

Silhouette (2nd July 2009)

Fill him in
Garnish to taste and set to violins
Earthworms and waterrats are real
Populating the landscape
We’re just encroaching on their habitat
Bells and grave yard sound effects soundtrack the atrophy
And there is no sanctuary, no off ramp, no spired magic city
Beyond these walls
Only the future and the shadows we cast

untitled (4th August 2009)

I wrote many moons ago
Of you as a star in the ascendant
Now you’re glowing further affirming your position in the firmament
I think of a special notebook in the footwell of a borrowed car
And of our last real wires crossed conversation
I still can’t identify what was going on
But thoughts of you take me back to that moment
When your ice cracked enough to show me again
Beautiful vulnerability
One word and I would have done a lot of bad things for you

4th Floor Atrophy (May 31st 2009)

4th Floor Atrophy
No discipline
I have to tell everyone different everythings
Though its amazing how often certain people feature
Can’t get a handle on substance
Or follow through to the hard core beneath
Troublesome definitions loom overshadowing
And the blade that cuts clear stays sheathed
Bright sun bitter wind
Leisure spent baulking at aggression
Flirting with the academy instead
So aren’t we quite the pioneers?
Drowning in limescale and blue ink
Binding our lives for submission
Just so we can break those chains
And create new ones
To ‘protect’ us from the possibility of our selves
Slot me in
And breathe easy in the new world we’re realising
Whilst we scoff at those that have emerged blinking since
Into the light that shines
From our collective rear
Being earnest, righteous and true
Without a shadow of a doubt
Except the one it casts
Long, amorphous, flickering

Friday, 19 February 2010

(19th February)

What would I do without these obsessions to occupy my passion
To neutralise, to soothe?
Are they the conduit or the pacifier?
Maybe just tools to use responsibly or as one sees fit if
One's ever fit to see
between the cracks
Elevating and descending by measures
Dependent on the prescence opposite
The weight that counter balances
Pushing forward fuelled by
Faith or fallacy
Understanding or fantasy
Racing forward towards backing off gradually
Crafting perfection fallibly
A confusion of clarity
Sometimes words slip slide away
Abscond on license through an open portal
Sometimes words escape
With the help of smuggled tools
But the best times are when words learn how to liberate
Empancipate and choose to be or not to be
Throw off their shackles and burn their slave names
'Values' 'Concepts' 'Principles'
To reveal the truth straining beneath
Maybe meaningless by the measure of immovable obejcts
The unstoppbale force neither noun nor verb
Adverb nor adjective
Deafingly inaudible
The Radical Music of the Soul.

Thursday, 4 February 2010

Left/Right (New Today)

A taste or an intuition
A place or a position
Contrived oh so naturally to resemble one’s wishes
Organising as a habit not a science
Dominates conversation
Instinctive mistrust of structure
Of designated placement
Spirit will prevail
It just needs a vessel
Considerately crafted
So by all means take care on that wheel
Caress and smooth to your hearts content
Get dirty and lost in the rhythm of manual perfection
But accept the reality of the form
It’s not forever
So it’s important that this starts somewhere
We’re not setting the agenda
Just acknowledging the void
The vacuum, the abyss left by what they destroyed
And preparing to stop defining community by its absences

Wait for this immaculate idol to diffuse
For the pedestal beneath your feet to crumble softly
In the God that scatters
As the earth moves beneath our feet
And we sit by different strangers in the sky
When I took my headphones out I remembered how to drive
Changed gear and then direction
With your light behind me
Giving me the strength to explore

Our forms for this moment
Vessels for sacred energy
Were never intended as private keepsakes
Are beside different roads basking
Eyes alive with interest
And Love alive with them
Defying definition
Refining contours of space and time
A Divine
Scattering all we laboured to shape
And bearing our love across the void
Filling the abyss
Until the vacumn disappears
Not destroyed because
Everything is Everything and It's Nothing too
So by neccesity I am you
And we're us
Can't our community start from here?

Tuesday, 12 January 2010

December 2009 scrap

Can’t shake this sadness
It’s not just tiredness this time
It’s the coldness beside me, the embrace of the night
Syntax for company, voice muted shouting for attention
Smile getting more brittle with every waking hour
Every spoon of sugar in every tepid tea
So much to work for
So much to savour
But right now
These sensations just aren’t sweet enough

Taking blessings for granted
Maybe just corrupted by the things I’ve tasted
Hours wasted picturing cherubic faces
Proxies for contempt with self
Crooked mirror shoots light to the crevices
The square ones could never reach
But a mirror isn’t a key
Anymore than two snowflakes can ever be the same


How clean do I have to come for this dirt not to stick?
Which tailor can I visit to mend this shirt to fit?
Can’t breathe but I let you smoke and now I’m burning
To Cinders
Compress and purify the Crystal
Much more than indiscretion
Shallow flippant denial
Skipping back into the future
Guilt, Frustration, Self loathing
And conflagrate at the push of a button
a bijou apartment or the corner by the underground
Self satisfaction strikes another wound
Into the flesh of good nature
Before the fatal chokehold
And it’s so cold so London, this distance between us
For days at a time I can play at being a real person
At knowing how to draw all the right lines and stay between them
Then I miss a beat, skip a step
And the chalk blurs
Its’ easy to build a complex critique
Hardest to present simple truths
Acknowledge the history we share
Easy to board up or glaze over and fall back to describing society
But what’s that if not you and I?
What are politics but how we choose to govern these bodies
How we give order to the impulse
Shape to the formless?
I’ve been advocating too many causes
And not thinking about the effects
I’ve been filling all my pauses
Waiting for you to interject
And when you interject
I feel how my desire consumed my self respect
Now this realisation is all that I have left
And I’m drawing myself to my feet preparing for the next step
And after that the next and the next
Until this beat stops pounding in my chest
I could’ve been better
I won’t be worse
I can’t give you your dignity back
But I can try and help you build it
I won’t be that cliché song lyric
And fuck you over again
Or myself

Tuesday, 5 January 2010


Orange light glowing in embers on the tundra
Swans sit brooding
Geese pad tentatively
And the school kids and grandmas marvel at the expanse
Watching their breath and skidding shards across its opaque surface
The embers pulse with the gaps of the dying day
It’s a slow painless demise
Holding promise of narcotic blissful slipping
And guiltless solitary completion
Leaving half a world of heirs the ultimate estate