Fate's tether

Imagine writing a line in a poem
thinking it's original
when in fact it's already been written
by somebody else
- and a proper poet at that.

Such candid wit,
that presumed accidental craft,
will seem too crafty
to anyone but you
(and if the opposite should happen
it would still be your fault).
No one will believe you,
of course:
an incredible coincidence
will never sell as much
as the pettiest,
lamest little fraud.

So, how can a minor poet
avoid such nasty inconvenience
as giving an intimate utterance
an already owned form?

Obviously, the only guaranteed way
would be to quit writing altogether.
But then he would have loved and lost...
And besides, what's left of life,
when we are no longer tied
to fate's tether?