In The Tradition Of What Appears To Be Everyone by Joseph Goosey This is a birthday poem. I’ve just turned 30. I’m 4 days into being 30 and I feel haggard not because I’m 30, no, I was haggard at 29 and expect to be at 31. Numbers aside, my skin is she changing? My shoulders smell like Krystal’s smell. Krystal is from the club I don’t remember going to last night. I found her number inside of my wallet. I can’t get involved with Krystal from the club because I’m trying to get involved with Crystal from my job who is working on speaking fluent Arabic. Days, sometimes, become biblical lashings. String me up for the entire town to see. I intend to go out screaming silent inside of the head. Today I am 30. Tomorrow I am 30 plus one day. Age goes on like this for too long. Age is not a factor as to whether I’m aroused but not nooses, nooses help. A noose restricts blood flow. Verbiage is difficult. Verbiage and science are difficult. I stare at the floor and hope elsewhere.