post-humanist

maybe we can't stand
being shut into little boxes anymore
house to car to office walls
maybe we want to live in the open
so
then we can feel
breeze playing on skin
more than anything
maybe we want to let it go
the buildings that reach into the sky
the highways filled with cars
the fear that drives us on and on
maybe we want to let it in
the breeze
the creeping tendrils
the buzzing insects
the dust of the plains