The Golden Chain Tree Dance

Just now I feel this hesitation. Will
the Golden Chain Tree carry me away
in a rhythmic exaltation, a May-dance
around her golden grapes? Or will
the language of this formal writing
contain my swinging mood inside
the line-walk of reflexion? Or, are
we - tertium semper datum est -
going to keep the balance, staying
in-between these moulding forms?
Just swinging through that in-between.
Making fun, celebrating my freedom
to express myself, regardless all
those chaining rules, that govern
the hearts of those who fear to follow
inner aspiration to play and waste
their inks in writing what? In writing
just what you like and sing sonore:

Come muses, break my golden
chains and let it rain your blossom
wealth, pour, pour that golden over-
flow into my eyes, my veins, come
dance this day out of its murky
shadows into the golden laughter
of a joyful life. Be light&bright&
swift to drive your passion right
through my tight disgusted belly,
tear out the undigested archives
of my fameless past and let the
golden chain winds whistle full
into&through my new and empty
waist: hurray, we’re free, no shilly
shally anymore, free to adore the
Golden Chain Tree Blossoms at
the neighbour’s door. Cheerioho!

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