Huddle House Visionaries
by jerome

The wisdom of the collective subconsious poured onto recycled napkins with a flood of adjectives and adverbs and bad grammar

Romancing the ways of the prophet of old -- stalking the lonely life of Isaiah, the death o Ezekiel, the whale's kiss on Jonah's lips

Stalking the truth that is known no longer -- buried in time and silence and ignorance -- drown alive in the sands of the grinding, greasy, primal machine
	
	Where have the dreamers gone?
	They've gone to nirvana.
	Where have our hopes gone?
	They died with the poets.
	Where have our lovers gone?
	They drown in their passions.
	Where have the prophets gone?
	We killed them and ate them.
	Where are the visionaries?
	We died in the Huddle House --

Dreaming of peace and praising out own unrealized, utopian plans for salvation.

	When will we save the world? 
	First we must save ourselves.