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Words Strung Lyrical, Rhythmic & Fresh

But what if I were feeling lazy today?
Oh, but I am, his internal voice responds.
I am I am I am I am I am.  Be that as it

may, I once was such a devotee that I
infiltrated Shakespeare, whose words
can truly claim his name as I have done

for one of his (or might it still possibly be
her) own.  Some of those words still live
within me (Good Signior Leonato, are you

come to meet your trouble? The fashion
of the world is to avoid cost, and you
encounter it. or Teach me, dear creature,

how to think and speak. Lay open to my
earthly gross conceit, Smothered in errors,
feeble, shallow, weak, The folded meaning

of your word’s deceit.) I’m thinking now
that even without knowing where one line
ends and another begins, the ebb and flow

of the rhythm of the words so strung together
would come naturally.  I could be wrong.  I
could be lying.  I’m just a guy who, with some

regularity, transfixes a traditional form, say of
fourteen lines of iambic pentameter, into one
that is decidedly without structure.  I could be

wrong.  I could be lying.  And yet such poetic
fuckery has, by now, its own long-standing
tradition (regardless of my redundancy, and

pardon the pun, but it is true that by screwing
with form, by breaking those once-strict bounds,
I am but folding myself within the ever-evolving 

layers of tradition).  What makes a bunch of words 

strung together in a particular order anything
special?  What concoction of cadence and sound

bends the ear so uniquely and so profoundly that
we deem a lyric fresh, or hail its author master?
I couldn’t tell you.  And who cares?   Let’s leave the

answers to those who’ve spent some time in search
of such answers, who in such endeavors have bent 

an ear or two in such cathartic pleasure; to those

without whom this life might seem (without us
knowing) significantly duller, and this most
vivid planet more two dimensional than three.