Poem in Which I Transition into Want


Aeon Ginsberg


maybe I was never feminine, or animal

maybe I need to learn that wanting something

into existence is not creation, but just want.

I am want for womanhood as I am want for maleness,

or for how I want for animalia again, or for the first time

the body wants for air forever, and then it doesn’t.

the body wants for rest in small doses, and then it indulges.

the body wants for movement, and then stations itself around it.

the body wants for itself until it rejects itself.

I don’t want to be a body someone can identify

after death, but if I am to be found, make me myself

not feminine, or animal, or masculine, or even corporeal.

When I say that I want to be like the wind, but not the wind,

I mean to hope to move against anything

that could possibly grasp me and refuse it.

Refusal is as much my gender as it is all gender,

it is the one I have always lived with.

First there was a body with teeth and they got worse,

so they wished themselves sharper, animal.

Then from sharpness the body reduced its maw into nothing,

and what is nothing but an amount of water, so the body synthesized.

The body waits for things to be okay, even when they won’t be.

The want for things doesn’t end, so why should I stop wanting

for a body that is anything but what it is, or to stop

wanting for anything altogether, by which I mean, to become death.