poem of the day 06.17.16

the hedonist

ian was going to be a big writer one day

the next burroughs or selby jr.

all of his short stories in fiction class caused controversy

someone was usually on drugs in them

heroin mostly but other stuff to calm the need

the characters in ian’s stories fucked while high on junk

they were always cascaded in dark amber light

that had me imagining beer bottles

people rarely left bed in ian’s stories

they fucked or did heroin or stared into the amber light

or they were tortured by sex or by the lack of drugs

the characters were always drenched in a mad sweat

that soaked through the pages of his self-proclaimed genius

they were suicidal and desperate

the walls were always greasy and wet

ian liked to tell the writing class that his stories were all true

or they were taken from real life

his life maybe but he never said

he just sat there emaciated and bearded

in his amber-colored flannel coat and black scarf

that he wore regardless of the weather

a contented smile on his face

as the people in class argued about his stories

and called him names like pornographer or smut peddler

ian told everyone he preferred the title hedonist

which most of the class didn’t know the meaning of

they were dullards who wrote stories

about their families or things that had happened in high school

rain or a pet dying was usually the big climax to most stories

many of them talked about getting an MFA

ian said college and writing classes were all bullshit

but there he was anyway

with his heroin stories and his over-sexed junkies

who always seemed to have the energy to fuck

all these years later i wonder if ian made it as a writer

did he become the next burroughs or selby jr.

i’ve looked him up online a few times

but have never come up with a thing

maybe he’s still lying in bed junked up on heroin

and having drug-fueled sex next to a dirty amber lampshade

maybe he’s a doctor in rhode island

who knows?

at least he made an impression on me

which rarely happens between me and the world

the rest of those people in class?

shit, i can’t remember their faces let alone their names

and i’m pretty sure

none of them ever became writers

or ever figured out what it meant to want to be called

a hedonist

at all.