Po-Mo poem on second story

Ring-ing

Bells are ringing

Memories    are riots. They roar.

He      dreams     white

Blow                        out                                        smoke

Jeans soaked stuck to shaky ankles

Can I ask a, never thought I, will you?

Drip

drip

drip         his form          pouring

Drip Drop Rain

Hello?                    Gonna be late.            Why?

Like a shadow, someone lingers behind that line

Doubt  chokesaroundhisthroat

Run   SPLASH     Run SPLASH   

Knockknockknock

I               do        not            do           I