I'm absolutely with Shaun on this one. One can only feel the metre, in Maryann's phrase, in this as one might fumble for a balustrade on a gloomy stairwell. There is nothing bashed out, as Maryann's phrase suggests, about the great heritage of sonnet poetry that actually observes a proper metrical form and to suggest that this is merely metronomic seems to me rather silly. As to this entry's 'fine enjambments' they not only seem to me to mess up any sense of flow in the verse, but also result in some not very sensible/grammatically convincing phrasings, e.g. the 'frayed shorts' now somewhat distantly related to their verb. Nor is this truly, as claimed, a single sentence, e.g. the disconnect between 'fence,' and 'just'. Not what I'd recognise as a sonnet and not one for me, I'm afraid.
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