Lost Poem

The idea, pure, perfect, brilliant
Beauty without rival
The words flowed like a gentle river to a sea of tranquility
It was an epiphany,
an orgasm of the mind as it were
It washed over me, through me
like a warm summer rain
Cathartic, cleansing my soul of doubt, dread, worry and fear
like grit and grime falling away after a shower
mixing in the soup bubble soup
spiraling and swirling down the bathtub drain
to be devoured by the goblins and gremlins
residing in the gullet of the city sewer system
the gods and goddesses of prose and verse,
are envious of this work of art.

So what is this masterpiece you ask.

Well, I don’t exactly remember
and I forgot to write it down