owen lucas

I have the good fortune to have encountered indulgent editors in Really System; they just published the longest poem I’ve yet had in print. It’s actually something I wrote for my brother, as an attempt to rehash a theatre piece we were working on. The subject was a gloomy, old-man Alexander the Great, transplanted into a gloomy, old-man seaside town in the south of England. In the original incarnation, Alexander is swallowed by an apocalyptic storm. In this version, which I wrote in verse, the apocalypse is more in his mind than in reality.