Aeon Ginsberg

2021, Poetry

AM TRANS OR TRANS AM?

Popping the clutch will shock load the driveline, making breakage a real possibility, and generally shortens its life

If so much of my makeup isn’t self-made, how am I even me?
Am I dissociating or astral projecting myself to myself.
The difference between doctors and mechanics are blurring.
I make so little money body mechanics don’t know what to do.
Lay me onto the gurney that will raise me on high.

What’s a gurney called for people who aren’t considered people?
I know I’m trans and that’s all I wish to pass as
but if you can see human in me too that’ll do.
My gears have been shifted intentionally;
I know that I have popped clutch often to maintain myself.

I have ruined the parts of my locomotion to maintain momentum.
Track the damage across my muscles, my pistons, my ligaments, my gears.
My gears, my lamentations – I don’t know what I would do
with a car but run myself down with it.
Did you know they’re installing microchips into people

to track currency and populations?
I’m afraid that lojack will be installed in my body
during gender reassignment surgery.
I’m against microchips embedding my body, embedding any body,
but I so wish for the auto to inhabit me.

The body self-replicates throughout its decomposition,
so how do I hack the body to replicate the estrogenetics I inject.
Prices spike on girl fuel and there’s a need for ulterior sources.
Canary in the tail pipe. it works until it doesn’t,
until it dies: it works until the results are needed.

Let me be mobile long enough to become stationary by choice;
to station myself above a plain and call it a junkyard or grave.
I’m not saying I’m an autophile, but I want a mechanic to dig a hole through me.

What’s a surgery called on a vehicle but a repair?
Repair my system into something new, something feminine, automatic mobility.
My body moves and I move with it, intentionally or not – am I not in motion already?
Am I trans or am I Trans AM? My body shifts gears slower then the world shifts them;

will I suffer electro-shock therapy or undergo electrolysis?
How do I hack the body to become my body?
I need a jump from another mecha-femme, from the bio-mechanics.
How do I give myself the sentience I deserve;

to know how to exist in myself.
Sentience isn’t something you teach yourself
but gets thrust into your arms – I am a conduit for gender to un-assimilate.
To know sentience, I need to get comfortable becoming myself –

shock and all.


Aeon Ginsberg (ey/em) is a transfeminine agender bitch from Baltimore City, MD. Eir book Greyhound was the 2019 Noemi Press poetry prize winner, as well as a finalist in transgender poetry at the 2021 Lambda Literary awards.