Overread at the Counter: Poem of the Day (again, Yesterday)

I was having a dream at about 11:30pm or so last night, I know only because I kept coming in and out of sleep and seeing the clock and remembering 11:34 or 11:43 or something around that time, and the images in my head were of boots slowly walking over crumbled stones of cement houses that had been bombed to rubble and the title of the poem was "Assad" or "Assad's Syria" and the lines were


Feet stumble across the rubble of broken stones.
Lungs filled with acrid cement dust.


... and I was thinking of a man, or a woman, or children, and I was remembering how, when the towers fell on 9-11, that all the people who were in the vicinity at the moment that they crashed to the ground were all covered in cement dust, and then I was thinking about how, ten years later, everyone was dying of lung poisoning, because all their lungs were filled with the particulates, and so I'm wondering if, in five to ten years from now, will the Syrian refugees also start dying of the cement dust that rips apart their lungs from the inside, and I was thinking what is all this for?   What, after all, is the point?






MR
2015-0102