the fall

by walter conley

i had a friend
named tim
who shot up
with his brother
then woke
alone
in a
coachella vineyard

thought the
crosses bearing
stripped-out vines
were rows
of people
eyeing him

scared to move
he stood stock-still
till he couldn’t
hold up
anymore
and
dropped again
back down and gone
beneath
a false dawn
paler than he was