An aspiring folk-singer. When I am not bruising those keys with my sordid melodies or blistering fingertips on old tarnished strings, I ride bikes toward sunsets- belting out ABBA tunes at the top of my lungs to scare off bush-lurkers. I am like the child whistling in the dark pretending not to know. she has the FEAR. I would be empty but for these calloused loves straining to reach the surface- aching to depart from my ambiguities- I hold them hostage until one slips, like a secret, like a compliment, disguised in sullen-shy tones it breaks free and suddenly the whole world knows my soul-windows...I am shoved from the nest.