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Implied Secrets: Poetry slides an incisor behind our addiction to living, rips essence from its bones and grinds us chunk to paste, half sustenance, the rest, waste. Verses are beds for the senseless masturbated to perfect sense. Sentiments and sympathies in micro-doses of self-psycho analytics affixed to symptoms, ticks, and epiphanies. Come inside, we have odes to sing. *** Joey comes out swinging at trauma cycles with moments of grieving and healing in this collection of (mostly) free verse poems and original doodle artwork.