Transvirtual

Let's workshop this bitch!

Transvirtual

Virtually from the womb, in this age
where our primary lives are virtual,
we enjoy easy and irresistible access
to “safe-space” echo chambers. Inside,
the voices—virtual bots—are easy 
to evade (mute or block), easier at least
than the voices of meat associates, if
by fat chance they behave more like
meat associates and push back against
how we self-identify. It was always
quite a challenge, but even more so
in such a cyber situation, to mature
out of that ego-centered modality
of our first five years (characterized
by trying on even fanciful identities)
and into that well-adjusted modality
of genuine adulthood (characterized
by openness to the voices of others,
others meatier than our fantasies).

Expect, then, queer situations. Adults
(biologically-speaking), with the fervor 
of a toddler convinced she is Iron Man,
not only will insist they have shifted
in race or sex, but will be empowered
enough—verbal and wealthy enough, 
in HR and managerial roles enough—
to make however they self-identify
(and expect wild self-identifications 
in a culture both attention-craving 
and desperate for distraction from
daily scientific reminders that our end
is erasure) a much meatier reality
than any toddler dress up or tantrum
ever could: hormones, surgeries, 
suicide-threat tantrums, terminations
that can trash not just a day or a room, 
but the very livelihoods of anyone
who offers even unintended pushback.

*This poem is unpublished