Friday, June 17, 2016

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.


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