Jim William West
I’m in a sheltered cove, tripping on LSD. It’s a soft, warm night, perfect for frisking. I run about, taking off my clothes, which disappear, blending perfectly with whatever they land upon, rocks, sand or seaweed. Behind me, my feet leave long lines of slowly fading, phosphorous green footprints. A bit later, it’s getting cool, and I’ve ‘lost’ my clothes: can’t see them anywhere. Fortunately, as I snatch at a nearby cactus it turns into my T-shirt. Then my trousers emerge from the sand. And so it goes, a joyous shopping trip. Finally, I find my sleeping bag, tucked against the cliff face. Powerful chemical fingers draw me down, and in. There are deep, primal lessons to be learned, as I curl in my nest by the sea. Then a searchlight hits me from above. It’s the cops, out on night patrol. I take off running along the bay, which is now transformed, into a long, curved, riot of rainbow colors. I’ve never felt this free. Ahead, a narrow ledge leads out into the sea and around a point. This is home territory and I know every inch of it. On the other side, I climb the cliff and crab like, stuff myself into a crevice. The cops aren’t going to follow me here. Now that I’m safe, my world ripples and dissolves. Later, a new day dawns, tinged with warmth, hope, and sadness. I find my sleeping bag, and walk home, passing friends along the way. If the police want me, they’re gonna have to be a lot sharper.
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