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Peter Jefferies
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Catapult
There's a thousand voices
In my head today
They say
So many things
At once
It's all random
Nobody planned them
Spinning around in a
Verbal flood
What's that, what's that
Before you've begun
Agreeing with yourself
On every point except one
Understated when overheard
Each thought relates
To a language
Which needs no word
Well consider it a gift
Like an echoing mirage
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In a maze of mirrors
Or feeling adrift
Of a series of ages
While each stage
Rearranges
Everything in sight
Until figures of fantasy
Seem to
Take flight
All across my view
Are the lines on the faces of
Things that I thought I knew
Are the lines on the faces of
Things that I thought I knew
Are the lines on the faces of
Things that I thought I knew
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