The Dust Unfolds.

The construction goes on
 adjacent to my backyard
starts well at dawn
 workers on the yard
 bang goes the scaffolds
 whizz comes up the concrete
 the dust comes up in folds
clogs in the chest in discreet
 the noise pierces through
dissipates the morning dew
I toss in my bed with anger
I curse the stranger
 who is building his house nearby
Oh1 for no reason, I want to die.