In 2007, the psychologist David Kemmerer scanned the brains of volunteers as they read aloud sentences that either followed or upended the order of adjectives.
Not surprisingly, he found that reciting strings of modifiers required more cognitive effort when the strings were beaded “wrong.” That ability to make a reader pause and concentrate can be useful to writers. After all, some might view a sentence requiring greater thought to decipher as flawed, but inspiring an incremental increase in focus is, for many writers, the point of writing.
On the other hand, phrases that cleave to GSSSACPM can have a lovely fluidity—in her poem “Question,” May Swenson asks: “How will I know/ in thicket ahead/ is danger or treasure/ when Body my good/ bright dog is dead?”
The way Swenson’s “good bright dog” (general opinion, specific opinion, noun) trots across the stanza just as we expect him to says something about his obedience, his reliability, and how lost we’ll be when he’s gone.